


We're Not What You Think

by Mofic



Category: X-Men Movieverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-22
Updated: 2010-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 11:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mofic/pseuds/Mofic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Logan leaves, Scott thinks his life will get back to normal.  It doesn't turn out that way.</p><p>Sequel to I Know What You Are.  Followed by Canadian Nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Not What You Think

Chapter 1: Mutants in Cyberspace

From: cyclops@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Where the hell are you?

And, more to the point, where's my motorcycle? I would have let you borrow it, you know, if you had just asked. If you told me you'd take good care of it.

Why do you just take what doesn't belong to you, without even asking?

Scott

P.S. Are you okay? Are you finding out what you need to know?

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: cyclops@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Where the hell are you?

Your bike is fine. I'm finding more questions than answers. And I need to go to the spaceport in Churchill, Manitoba but don't know if I can get there for a few months. 'Ro wrote a whole term paper on the history of the place for me but neglected to mention the fact that there are no roads that go there. There are commercial flights, but I have this problem getting through the metal detectors in the airport. There's a train, but it only runs in the warm months. There aren't a lot of warm months up there.

Logan

P.S. I once asked before I took you.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com

Subject: Asking and Taking

You said, in part:

&gt;P.S. I once asked before I took you.

If you're going to say things like that, please don't use the cyclops@mutant.org address. It's for official X-Men business and if I'm not here someone else will read it. Scott@mutant.org is my personal address. It should be easy to remember. I know you know my first name. I heard you use it once. You were on top of me - and inside me - at the time, IIRC.

 

I didn't know there was a spaceport at Churchill. I didn't even know Canada had a space program. All I know about Churchill is that the polar bear migration goes right through there. I've always wanted to see that. Polar bears are ferocious clawed beasts but they're beautiful.

Scott

P.S. Winters in Westchester are mild. I thought that might be worth mentioning in case you're looking for somewhere to wait out the time until you can go to Churchill.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Asking and Taking

I don't enter email addresses. I just hit reply. So send me mail from wherever you want me to send it to.

Canada doesn't have much of a space program. The spaceport at Churchill has had a few uses over the years. It seems it was once the site of a secret US/Canadian military project called Weapon X. Can you find anything out about it for me?

I know your name. I remember calling you by name. I remember lots of stuff.

Logan

P.S. So tell me about winter in Westchester. How could I pass the time? Tell me in detail.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Weapon X and Winter in Westchester

I'm trying to find out about Weapon X but mostly hitting a brick wall. It was a long time ago (How old are you anyway?) so I would have thought the government would be less secretive about it. Can it really still be a matter of national security? Are you in Canada now? Maybe Canadian government sources would be more forthcoming. There are roads to Ottawa.

How would you pass the time in Westchester? However you wanted to. Isn't that how it always was? I'm still willing to do what you tell me to. Would you tell me to take off all my clothes first? I didn't mind when you made fun of me for folding them carefully. I could feel your eyes on me and they weren't mocking.

Then what? Would you tell me to get on my knees? Would you be hard already, just from looking at me, just from thinking about it? I think so. I'd unzip your pants and take out your cock and it would be long and hard and a drop of precum would glisten at the head. I'd put my tongue to it to get a taste of you. You taste like nothing - like no one - in the world, Logan.

I'd touch you and lick you and suck you. If you give me time, I can let my throat muscles relax and take you all the way in. Would you let me go at my own pace? I like to do you so slowly. I like when it lasts a long time.

Would you let me kiss you on the mouth afterwards, the taste of you still in my mouth, sharing that, tongue to tongue? And then what? Would I stroke myself, watching you watching me, aching for you to touch me? Or would you break your rule for me? You did once and it was the closest to heaven I've ever been to have you on me and in me and your hand rubbing me. How did you know just how to do me when you'd never even touched my cock before? Why did you make an exception that one time? I thought it was a new stage for you and me. I didn't know it was the last time.

Scott

P.S. Jean and Charles and 'Ro and Marie all send regards. Marie says she still has your dog tags. She thinks you're coming back.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Weapon X and Winter in Westchester

You said, in part:  
&gt;How did you know just how to do me when you'd never even  
&gt;touched my cock before?

I was paying attention.

More later,

L.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Weapon X and Winter in Westchester

I've tried Ottawa and hit similar brick walls. Only the brick walls up here are a little more polite and don't go on about "national security." They don't give me any reasons for withholding info but they don't give me the info either. Personally, I think it has nothing to do with national security, on either side of the world's longest undefended border. More like national shame. If you're passing yourselves off as the good guys you don't want it known that you were torturing and experimenting on your own citizens, with no justification other than that they were a little different. You particularly don't want it known if you held war crime tribunals to punish the bad guys who did the same thing.

Do you think there's anyone at the school who could help with finding out more about Weapon X? The professor seems well-connected in Washington. And Jean has some contacts from when she was testifying at that Senate hearing, eh? Keep trying.

I don't know how old I am. My older memories are sketchy and jumbled and confused. Much of what I remember of the experimentation and the time before is from dreams and I can't always tell what's memory and what's dream. I am finding, though, that going to certain places is triggering clearer memories. I'm hoping the trip to Churchill will jump start that process.

So, I can't tell you how old I am but I'm pretty convinced that I was one of the "subjects" (I prefer "victims", for simple accuracy) of the Weapon X project and that makes me an old man. Does that bother you?

About the winter in Westchester stuff - it was great. I read it several times. One handed. You have a way with words, among your many talents, my friend. It brought back some hot memories. Send more like that.

You ask some hard questions, Scott (note use of first name), and I don't think I have the answers you want to hear. And I don't generally talk about this stuff, anyway. I'm not a real talkative kind of guy - you may have noticed this. But I'll try to explain a little to you.

I've tried to tell you before - I'm not like other people. I know you have had a lot of experience of men who didn't want to know what they were, who set up rules and barriers to maintain some sort of false view of themselves.

But that's not me. I know what I am and I'm not what you think. What I am is dangerous to be around. I can't get close to people - it's not safe for them. I need what you call my rules to stop me from going too far, to stop me from hurting or killing people I care about.

Maybe it's true that the greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves. There were times when I ached to touch you, too. Lots of them.

Why an exception one time? I don't know. Maybe because I knew it was just one time, knew I was leaving. Maybe because I just wanted to so much. It was a mistake, and it's one I have paid for. But it was a great mistake.

Everything the professor said about you was right, Scott. You are a true and loyal friend and you have the respect and love of your whole team and you so deserve it. And what he said about me was true, too. I can't control myself; I can't be with people. I would have been a danger to you all if I stayed. But for a while I got to be with you and it was a little bit of heaven in a life that's mostly hell. I thank you for that and maybe I should have been kinder to you.

Logan

P.S. Tell Marie I'll be back for the dog tags when I can, but it may be a while.

===================================================================================

Chapter 2: Whitman and Churchill and Bears, Oh My!

From: scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Weapon X and Winter in Westchester

You said, in part:

&gt;About the winter in Westchester stuff- it was great. I read it several  
&gt;times. One handed. You have a way  
&gt;with words, among your many talents, my friend. It brought back some hot  
&gt;memories. Send more like that.

E-mail sex? This is really sick, you know. So completely divorced from physicality. So disconnected from real human contact. You should have sat in on my class on Whitman. The body _is_ the soul. Although given what happened when you did sit in on one of my classes, I guess I don't need to lecture you on acknowledging your physical self. And anyway, given some of the other things I've done with you, I can't claim "really sick" isn't appropriate for our relationship. If we have a relationship. Whatever this is.

Okay. I'll try. It's my fantasy, though, so maybe it plays out a little differently than in real life. But I'll try to write it in a way you'll like. You'll be in charge.

Here goes:  
I'm in the enclosed garden at school, alone. I've been spending a lot of time there lately - reading, grading papers. You come in and you look at me but you don't say anything, just sit down next to me on the bench. So I ask you how you knew I was there. "I could smell you," you say, "and I can smell what you want."

"I want you," I reply and you smile because you already knew that.

"Get on top of me," you say, and I do. It's like the last time we were there together. I'm sitting on your legs, straddling you, my hands on your shoulders. I'm looking into your eyes and wishing you could see mine. I can feel the adamantium: in your shoulders, your knees, your thighs.

I love the metal in you. I've loved it since the first time you touched me. I love the feel of it, the weight of it, the power. I feel it in your head when I kiss your mouth, in your thighs when I stroke them when I'm sucking you, in your arms and hands when they grip me, when you hold me down. I hate that they did this to you, really I do. I hate them for hurting you and for changing you. I think of what you might have been if they hadn't put you in your invisible prison. And yet I love the metal in you. I love it because it's part of you now. Does that make any sense?

I'm kissing you now and you're kissing me back. You push your tongue in my mouth and that makes me moan a little, remembering sucking your cock. So I suck on your tongue, stroking it with mine, loving the feel of your body against me and under me, my hands in your hair and on the back of your neck.

We kiss for a long time. Your hands are on my head, on my back, on my ass. Did we ever kiss for a long time? I don't think so. We should; you're a great kisser. So, after a long time, you tell me what you want and I unzip us both. Rub us together. And you tell me again that you like that and that it feels like nothing else. I loved it when you said that. I love it when you talk to me when I'm doing you. You're not a talkative guy -- yes, I've noticed that. I wish you said more. But it's worth waiting for when you do. Just hearing your voice can make me hard, do you know that?

So, to return to our story, I'm there rubbing your cock against mine and you're telling me you like it. And I tell you I want to see your claws. But this time you don't push me back, don't hold me away from you. You take them out and show them to me right in front of my face and I keep rubbing us. And you tell me again that you'll never hurt me with them, that you'll use them to protect me if I need you to. And I lick the middle one but you don't tell me to this time -- I just do it because I want to, because it's part of you. And then I come. You retract the claws and put your hand on the head of my cock while I'm coming, so you get my cum on your hand. And you lick your fingers while I keep rubbing you and then you come, too.

And then you're hard again (because you always are) and we take off all of our clothes. And you tell me to lie prone on the ground (only you wouldn't say "prone," would you? Make that "face down"). And you fuck me with long, slow strokes, pushing deep into my ass, hitting the prostate and making me moan. And you're kissing me and biting me a little on the back of the neck and saying "You belong to me," and I'm telling you that I do, that I'll do anything you tell me to. And then you're pushing into me harder and faster and you're making noises but I can't grasp any words and then you come deep inside me. And while you're coming your claws extend and they dig into the ground on either side of me. And I feel totally enveloped by you.

I'll keep trying on Weapon X. I'm sure Charles and Jean will want to help. If they can't get somebody to talk to them, maybe they can get some information telepathically.

I could take you to Churchill, you know. No metal detectors required for the Blackbird. I'm getting better at landings. If we left soon, you could do your searching and I could watch the bears.

Scott

P.S. Don't you think I, of all people, know something about being dangerous to get close to? Couldn't we have looked at this together and worked out some sort of modus vivendi? There has to be some way we can manage to stay friends, old man. Friends who fuck would be my preference.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Weapon X and Winter in Westchester

Thanks for offering to take me to Churchill in the Blackbird. I'm sure you are getting better at landings. You couldn't be getting worse.

But it won't work. Churchill's a small place and I want to be inconspicuous there. Your jet isn't inconspicuous. And it's easier for one mutant to pass as normal than two. Besides, like I told you before, I travel alone.

I liked the story. Liked it a lot. You write great fuck scenes. I heard your creative writing class is really popular. Is this the kind of stuff you teach those kids to write? I think I would have paid more attention in school if I had had a teacher like you.

Reading that made me wish I was back there with you. I'd let you see the claws up close if you wanted to. I only held you back to make sure you wouldn't get hurt.

The only part in the story that didn't quite work was when you had me saying you belong to me. I wouldn't say that. I always knew you didn't belong to me. Hey, I only wanted to borrow you.

I never told her anything, Scott. Did you? I don't think so. Maybe you should. Maybe she'd thank me if you did. All those nights I sent you home to her, ready for action. What was it like fucking her right after sucking me? Did that add something - a little danger? Got to keep your mind on what you're doing when you're doing a telepath, eh? Can't think about what you just did, about who you just did. I know you're the master of control and concentration, Cyclops. Still there must have been a little risk. Fucking her minutes after you swallowed my cum. There was always the chance you'd think of me.

Or maybe not. Maybe it wasn't so hard to forget me. Tell me, Summers, did you like sucking my dick as much as you like it when she sucks yours?

You still planning on getting married? Let me know when. Hey, maybe I should be the best man, since we're such good friends and all. That would be a hoot. The bachelor party could be just you and me.

"Have you ever loved the body of a woman? Have you ever loved the body of a man?" Surprised I know that? That's the part that makes me think of you, leaving the man who fucked you to go to the woman you fuck. Put something about that in the next story you send. Tell me what it was like doing me and then her.

Logan

P.S. Sometimes the claws extend when I come, just like you wrote it. They do if I don't concentrate on stopping them. I didn't let them out like that with you because I thought it would scare you. Maybe it would have. Sometimes stuff seems hot in fantasy but it's not so much fun in real life.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Re: Weapon X and Winter in Westchester

Please don't ask me to talk to you about my relationship with Jean, Logan. It may seem to you like I don't care about cheating on her. I wouldn't be surprised if you thought it didn't matter to me at all - I didn't exactly play hard-to-get, didn't protest that I couldn't do you because of Jean. But I really do care even if I don't act like I do. I feel like scum for how I've treated her.

I used to think of myself as an honorable man. I've worked hard at becoming someone reliable and trustworthy, and I feel awful that I betrayed her with you. I still am cheating on her, really, with this correspondence, which hasn't exactly been innocuous. And I'm cheating on her just by knowing that if you came back we'd pick up right where we left off. Or at least we would if you would still have me. I know myself well enough to know I wouldn't say "no" to you.

I don't want to compound that betrayal by violating Jean's privacy, by talking about what is personal between her and me. So, I really can't talk to you about sex with Jean. I did know you hadn't told her anything and I appreciate that.

But, yes, Jean and I are still together and we're still planning on getting married. I don't know when. I've got some things I need to work out before I can feel comfortable setting a date.

Putting that line about "You belong to me" in the story I sent bothered you, I guess. At least that's how it seemed to me in your note. I know tone is hard to read in email and I do sometimes take offhand comments too seriously. If I'm wrong just skip this next part. But if it did upset you let me try to explain why I said it.

Once you said I like doing what you tell me to but won't admit it. I'm admitting it now. I like being on my knees in front of you, waiting for you to tell me what you want. I like your commanding presence - it makes me hot. I like obeying you. I like feeling that for a short time I belong to you, that you can do whatever you want with me. So, that's why I put it in the story, for me as well as for you. If it's not what you wanted to read, then I'm sorry. I thought it was something you'd say. I know it's something I'd want to hear you say. I like feeling like I'm under your control.

But, you know, I also like that that isn't all there is to you, all there is to us. I laughed at you for asking if you could fuck me that last time we were together, because it was just so unexpected. Still, I'm so glad you did. I want to feel like I matter to you, that what I want matters to you. I felt you showed regard for me, for what I wanted, when you asked to fuck me, didn't just take me. And I wanted you so much. I still do.

I want to believe, too, that it matters that it's me, that it wouldn't be just the same for you if it were somebody else sucking you off, somebody else you were fucking. I do want to feel that "attention must be paid to such a man." And I thank you for paying attention, for showing me the consideration you have. The things you wrote that one time - about me, about what I did for you - that meant a lot to me. A lot of what you said and did means a great deal to me.

Do you remember once you told me I was good and strong and brave? Okay, so I was sucking your dick at the time and perhaps that was clouding your judgment. But still, I believed you meant it. I've lived on that sometimes, Logan. Sometimes when you were cruel to me that memory sustained me. I could summon up the whole experience at will, have a full-body flashback. I could feel your cock in my mouth, my hands on your thighs, your hands on my cheeks. And I could hear your voice, praising me, caressing me. I still can, Logan. I can hear you and feel you right now. And I want you back. come back to me. Just for a little while.

=================================================================================================

Chapter 3: Time to Wonder

Days went by with no answer to Scott's last note to Logan. No one else at the school had heard from him, either. Scott worried that something had happened to prevent Logan from responding, but knew that was unlikely. He couldn't be sick or injured, after all. Then he tried to tell himself that Logan was just somewhere without internet access, or that Scott's own message had gotten lost somewhere in cyberspace. But as the days stretched into weeks, Scott reluctantly concluded that Logan didn't want to write to him any more. He read and reread the last message he had sent Logan, trying to figure out just what it was that he had said that went over the line, that caused his friend to end the correspondence. He couldn't figure it out, decided that he would have sent the exact same message if he were doing it again. And sadly concluded that, for all that they had shared, he didn't even know Logan well enough to know what he had said that had offended him. Or hurt him. Or perhaps merely bored him.

Should he have told Logan the truth about him and Jean? That he'd never gone from Logan to Jean, had not even had sex with Jean for weeks when he'd been meeting Logan at night. That he couldn't get Logan out of his head much of the time, even now. Or maybe he should have made something up, told some sexy story for Logan's amusement, never mind the truth. And was it really respect for Jean's privacy that was stopping him from telling Logan the truth? Or was it just his own pride?

For a while he felt like he was just going through the motions of living, like an important part of his being had disappeared along with Logan's presence in his life. He taught his classes; he worked out; he went on missions, taking Bobby and John with him now, too, since Charles agreed that they were both ready to be full-fledged members of the team. And, yes, he brought them all back alive. Hardly anyone seemed to know that there was anything wrong with their fearless field leader. When no one can see your eyes, nobody knows what they are saying.

Charles knew something was wrong, of course, and so did Jean. Jean knew that Scott was depressed and she knew that his correspondence with Logan had ended. She understood that, in the weeks between the end of the mission against Magneto and Logan's departure, Scott and Logan had developed some sort of friendship, that they had somehow repaired the rift between them.

She understood that Scott had felt betrayed when Logan left, taking his motorcycle and not even saying goodbye. And that somehow their email correspondence had mollified Scott, that he had been pleased to be in contact with Logan once again. She ached for Scott when she saw that the end of that correspondence had plunged him into a deep depression.

Jean tried to talk to him about Logan a couple of times but he made it clear that he didn't want to discuss him and she didn't push the issue. She could have known more, of course, if she chose to use her powers. Maybe she didn't want to violate Scott's privacy by finding things out through telepathy that he hadn't chosen to share through speech. Maybe she didn't want to know.

Charles knew more than Jean, had always known more. He knew Scott better than anyone, better than Scott himself realized. Charles had found Scott when he was a sixteen-year-old runaway. With no way to control his powers and effectively blind, Scott had eked out a precarious existence, hiding his mutant status, surviving on the money men gave him for sex. And Charles had taken him away from all that, brought him to the mansion. At that time it had only been a school in Charles's mind. Scott had been his first student, his first X-Man.

Charles always thought of Scott as his son, as his first child. Like a father, Charles felt a growing pride in Scott's accomplishments as he grew from a scared kid into Cyclops, field leader of the X-Men. And, like a father, he worried when he saw Scott and Jean getting involved, realizing that Scott was determined to bury his true nature so deep in the back of his mind that even telepathy didn't make it accessible. He had thought of talking to Scott about what he was going through, trying to help him. But Charles knew that, for some, human society's rejection of the mutants among them was just as much as they could handle. Perhaps that was true for young Scott Summers, he thought. Maybe he just did not dare disturb the universe.

Perhaps his young field leader, who tried so hard to fit in, who worked so hard on controlling his powers, his body and his mind, just could not bear to be two kinds of outcast.

So, Charles never talked to Scott about his concerns. He watched Scott prepare a face to meet the faces that he met and said nothing. He told himself that it was Scott's life and Scott's decision. He felt twinges of worry and sadness from time to time, but he never confronted Scott, never asked him how he would manage to be a faithful lover and husband to Jean when he palpably longed for a man's touch. And Charles knew better than anyone the longing in Scott's mind and in his body.

As time went on, Jean and Scott developed a warm and loving relationship that seemed to bring joy and peace to both of them. Bit by bit Charles let go of his worries and managed to just be happy for them. That is, he managed to be happy for them until Logan came into all of their lives.

He watched the relationship between Logan and Scott developing and felt powerless to do anything to stop it, anything to help. He didn't even know what would be a help to Scott, who was clearly being torn in two directions.

Years of denial had left Scott no less needy, no less deprived. The opportunity that Logan presented, the opportunity to express his sexual self, had just hit Scott like a tidal wave and he could not resist it. It didn't lessen his love for Jean one bit; it didn't make him any less in need of the security and stability of the school and his position in it. Still, he could not resist Logan, could not say 'no' to him no matter how hard he tried. Scott Summers, famous for control and reserve, had lost his control and risked all he held dear for clandestine sex with this man.

Charles found just the brief glimpses he had into Scott's mind to be excruciatingly painful and wondered how his protege managed to live with that pain all the time. But, he reflected, Scott had always been good at that, good at carrying on no matter how much pain he was in. It was a necessary skill for a field leader of a group like the X-Men. He couldn't let his own pain distract him from ensuring the safety of his team or the success of his mission. That was equally true whether the pain was from battle wounds, or from something more personal and less physical.

Pain, Charles mused, was part of the bond between Logan and Scott. What little Charles knew of Logan's early years and origins was enough to let him know that the clawed man had experienced pain, both physical and psychological, beyond the endurance of nearly any human. How could one be subjected to that treatment and come out of it alive and still with some human feeling? When he thought of the experimentation and torture Logan had undergone, Charles wondered that the man they called Wolverine had emerged with as much of his sanity left as he seemed to have.

As time went on and no word from Logan came, Charles felt an increasing sense of remorse for the way he had spoken to Scott about Logan, and in general, for the way he had treated Logan. It had been easy to say that it was best for all if Logan left and left alone. The school community would function better without him. Logan's own needs and desires pointed him elsewhere, trying to find out his origins. He had even thanked Charles for his help in giving direction to his searching.

Charles, on the other hand, realized that he had not been honest about why he wanted to help Logan in his search or why he wanted him to leave. He hadn't been honest with himself or with Scott about why he tried to convince Scott to just let Logan leave on his own, to just get out of their lives. Charles had looked on Logan as a problem for Scott and Jean and a problem for their community.

Certainly there was truth to that view. Logan was volatile and violent. He was a loner who could not manage to live and work in the semi-communal environment they had created, lacking the discipline to function as a member of a team. All of that was true, but that wasn't all there was to him. Under the violent mood swings; under the joking, uncaring manner; under the half-man, half-beast exterior; under the coercive sexual dance he was engaged in with Scott was a man in an agony of loneliness. Logan was a man -- a mutant - sinking in a slough of despond and Charles had dedicated his life to reclaiming the lives of mutants in just such despair. He had tried to create an environment of safety and community for those who lived in pain and danger and isolation. Who had ever had more of pain and danger and isolation than the man with the adamantium claws? Why had he turned his back on Logan, who needed Charles and what he had to offer as surely as he needed what Scott gave him?

He resolved to find Logan and help Scott at least find out what had caused the rupture between them. Perhaps they could even repair it. What would further contact with Logan do to Scott and Jean? What would it do to the school community? Charles didn't know, but he knew that he had to take some risks to save this man. If he didn't, Logan could end up like the last troubled mutant he had turned his back on. And Charles did not wish Erik's fate on anyone, certainly not on this man who through risking his own life had saved them all.

===========================================================================================

Chapter 4: A Couple of Mutants Walk Into a Bar

I noticed him, sure. Who wouldn't? It's not every day you see somebody come into a dark bar at night wearing wraparound sunglasses. It wasn't just the glasses, though. I noticed him because I liked how he looked, the length of him, the way he moved, those graceful fingers. Liked how he smelled, too. I didn't think he'd notice me, but he sat down on the stool right next to me and gave me a brief flicker of a smile before ordering his beer.

"Hey, bub. You a movie star?" I said, gesturing to the glasses.

"Not yet," he replied. "I'm just practicing, in case I am some day." And he gave me sort of half a smile and briefly brushed his leg against mine. I couldn't tell if it was on purpose or accidental, but he sure smelled good. Looked good. It had been a tough week and I was in a "come to me only with playthings" kind of mood. Couldn't remember what that line was from, but looking at him made me think of it, somehow.

I asked him his name. He hesitated, sort of winced before answering. "Scott," he said, finally. I figured it wasn't his real name, but who cares? It was something to call him.

We made small talk for a while. He said he taught high school, making it clear why he didn't want to use his real name when picking men up in bars. And, yes, by now I was pretty sure that was what was happening. Pretty glad of it, too.

He had a room at a motel not too far away. We went there. He admired my motorcycle; I let him drive. I liked sitting behind him and holding on.

When we got into his room I pushed him up against the wall and kissed him. He was a good kisser -- sucked on my tongue like he meant something by it. But still with the glasses. I was getting uncomfortable with that, wanted to see his eyes. "Can you take the glasses off, do you think?" I asked. "It's a little unnerving not seeing your eyes, Scott."

"You can't see my eyes. I'm sorry." And he really did sound sorry. "I can take off the glasses but I'll have to keep my eyes shut if I do." And then he took a deep breath and said, "I might as well tell you now. I'm a mutant. My gift is in my eyes, but it's not totally a gift. It's powerful, but it's dangerous. I'm safe to be around as long as I'm wearing the glasses or my eyes are closed. But I'll understand if you want to leave now."

I didn't want to leave. Kissed him again. He put his arms around me, hands stroking my back. I held onto his ass. We kissed a long time, pressed against each other, both hard. Then he whispered in my ear, "I want to suck your cock. Can I do that?"

"Best offer I've had all day." I took him by the hand, led him over to the arm chair and sat down. He kneeled in front of me, unzipped me and got started. And he was amazing. From the first moment he touched me, licked me, it was pure joy. And when he took me into his mouth it was like nothing I'd ever felt before. He was so good at it, so talented or something. It was like he knew just what I needed, just how to make it last until I almost couldn't take it any more. And then he sucked the cum out of me, swallowed and smiled up at me with this look like he was thanking me for letting him do it.

"You get tired of teaching, you could do that for a living, you know," I said. "You've got a real gift for it."

"That's what you always say," he replied, sort of a sad tone.

"What do you mean? I never said it before. I never saw you before."

"Yeah, you did. It's not the first time we've done this, Logan. You just don't remember."

"Believe me, if somebody sucked my cock like that before, I'd remember." He didn't say anything. I told him I wanted to fuck him. He didn't seem surprised I was hard again. He took off his clothes, pulling a tube of lube out of his pocket and handing it to me.

I took it, told him to get down on all fours on the floor, told him I wanted to take him like that. Got him ready, pushed in. It felt like heaven.

He started moving so fast and so wild he almost bucked me off. He didn't mean to - I could tell. He was just hot and hadn't been fucked in a while and didn't know what to do with what he's feeling. Well, I'm stronger than him. I held him still and said, "Scott, slow down a minute. Work with me."

He listened, did what I told him to. We got in a rhythm together, started slowly. Worked up to it, fucking harder and faster. My hand was on that lovely cock of his and I was rubbing it while I moved in and out of his tight, hot ass. He was so into it by this point. I could feel it in how he moved with me, I could hear it in his breathing, I could smell it on him.

I wanted to hear him say it.

"You like it like that, Scott?" I asked him, fucking him hard, stroking his cock while I pushed deep into him.

"Oh, yes," he said, sounding almost breathless, a couple of words at a time, each time I pushed into him. "Keep talking. Please Logan. Keep saying. My name."

So I did. I told him what a good fuck he is. I told him I wanted him the moment I saw him in the bar. Gave him that "come to me only with playthings" line -- he seemed like the type to like poetry. I told him I felt like I could ride him like this forever. And with everything I told him I used that name he made up, Scott. "I love fucking you, Scott. I love holding your cock, Scott."

Oh, he liked hearing it. He started talking to me, too, telling me pretty lies, using my name. "I longed for you, Logan. I needed you, Logan. I belong to you, Logan." And then he was kind of losing his control and the sentences fall apart and he was just saying words. Wonderful words like "fuck" and "joy" and "hot" and "yours, all yours" and my name again and again.

And then he wasn't talking any more, just making these sounds. Great sounds. I wanted to hear those sounds all the time, hear them in my dreams.

Sounds to die for. And then he came and he sort of shook when he did. Got me humping harder.

I came hard inside him. Felt like the claws were going to come out and held my hands away from him while I was coming, just in case. But I managed to keep them in. Glad of it - I did not want to screw this up by scaring him off.

I pulled out of him and we sat down on the floor there. I kissed him on the mouth again.

"You really shouldn't let men fuck you like that, without a condom," I told him. "Barebacking ain't safe. I'm not sick. Another guy might be."

"I don't let other men do that, Logan. Just you."

A little hard to believe, considering he'd just picked a total stranger up in a bar and let him fuck him unprotected. Or was he still thinking he knew me? Must be confused. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. He broke the silence, saying, "You could have let the claws out. I wouldn't have been scared."

"How the fuck do you know about the claws? You a telepath?" He shook his head. "Look, I figured you realized I'm a mutant, too. Who else would stay after you said you're one? But I want to know where you found out about the claws."

"I told you - I've been with you before. I've seen your claws plenty of times. I fought side-by-side with you and saw them then. I've seen them during sex, too. 'I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas.' I used to say that to you. It always makes me think of you." He was looking wistful now, remembering the guy he thought was me.

"You must be mixing me up with somebody else," I said and he laughed right in my face.

"How many clawed mutants with permanent hard-ons named Logan do you think are out there? It was you. I was warned you'd be like this, you know. It's not your fault. Somebody did this to you. Someone took your memory away. And your brain can't cope with the amnesia so you just deny it's there. It's not even the first time they did it to you. I came here to help you - to help you get your memory back, to help you find out who did this to you, to help you stop them from doing this to anyone else. But I can't help you get your memory back until you admit it's gone."

"My memory's fine."

"Oh, yeah? Where were you two months ago? Three months ago?"

"I move around a lot. It all blends together after a while." Now I was the one feeling confused.

"That's not going to cut it, Logan." And then after a pause, "Where'd you get the motorcycle?"

I didn't answer him. Funny that I never thought about it before, never wondered where it came from. But now that I was thinking about it I couldn't remember buying it. Or stealing it. It was just there.

"You don't know, do you? Don't you think that's a little strange? Okay, how about this one: when's your birthday? How old are you? You don't know that either, do you? People know how old they are, Logan. People know their names. Do you know what your whole name is? Do you even know whether Logan's your first or last name? Something's wrong here."

I was going to argue with him. Yell at him, knock him around a bit, even. Teach him a lesson. Some guy I just fucked doesn't get to talk to me like that.

But he was right. It was strange. Strange that I didn't know that stuff. Strange that I hadn't thought about not knowing until he told me. And there he was, looking at me, plaintive like. Like he was sad I didn't know, like he wanted to help. "Okay, smart guy. You're the man with all the answers? You tell me."

"I don't have all the answers, Logan. I wish I did. I don't know your real name. I don't know how old you are. I don't know who did this to you. I know where you were two months ago because I was with you. And I've been trying to help you find answers to the other questions. We were writing to each other. E-mail. And then you stopped writing back. I thought you didn't want to write to me any more. When I found out what happened to you, I came here looking for you."

Writing to each other? Not quite what I expected. "So we were pen pals?" I asked him. "I'm not much of a correspondent. Least ways, as far as I can remember. I'll agree that we've established I do have some memory problems."

"Well, I guess I wrote more, but you had some things to say."

"So, where was I two months ago?"

"Salem Center, NY. It's a suburb of New York City, in Westchester County."

"And what else can you tell me?'

"I can tell you where you got the motorcycle," he said, reaching for his pants, pulling out a wallet. "It's mine. I brought you the registration, so you don't get in trouble if you're stopped for speeding or anything."

He handed it to me and I read the name on the registration. "Scott's really your name?"

"Yeah. I told you it is. Scott Summers."

"Well, I thought you just made that up 'cause you didn't want me to know your real name. You kind of paused before you said 'Scott'. I thought you were trying to think of a name."

He didn't answer for a minute. When he did he sounded truly miserable. "Oh, that. No, I guess I was just feeling a little bit sad that you didn't know it. We used to be friends," he said. And then, "Does my name sound at all familiar now?"

I almost told him it did, just to make him feel better. But I figured he could help me better if I was honest with him. I shook my head.

"What about Cyclops?" he asked next.

"Guy with one eye, right?"

"Well, yeah, but sometimes people call me that. You used to, sometimes." He thought a little more. "Do you know anything about Churchill, Manitoba?"

I told him I didn't think I ever heard of it. "What about Weapon X?"

That one meant something. I didn't know what. It was like something out of a dream. Or maybe out of a song, like when you can just remember part of the lyrics and it's driving you crazy not to know the rest of it. Weapon X.

"That meant something to you, didn't it?" He sounded really excited.

"I don't know what it means," I told him, feeling the frustration rise, trying not to take it out on him.

"But you know it means something, right?" I nodded. "I think that's good, that's a start. You were trying to find out about the Weapon X program. It was some sort of secret government project. You thought it might have been the key to who experimented on you, who took your memory away. I was trying to find out about Weapon X on my end and you were looking here."

"Well, it still doesn't mean anything to me."

"But the phrase rang a bell. I think that's a good sign. It's probably enough for one day. Just leave it alone and maybe some more will come back. I'll help you, Logan, if you'll let me."

"Sure, bub. You want to help, Scott? You can help. But I'm all for leaving it alone for now. My head is starting to hurt."

I stopped thinking about this stuff for a minute and just looked at him. He looked good. "So, you want to fuck again?"

He laughed and said, "Well, at least some things haven't changed."

"The brain is having some problems, I guess, but the body is working okay."

"More than okay, Logan. What the hell. Sure. Let's fuck again."

=============================================================================================

Chapter 5: Morning in Medicine Hat

I woke up in his bed. Alone. He was sitting in the armchair across the room, looking at me through dark glasses in the still dark morning. ""Did you spend the whole night there?" I asked. He nodded, rubbing his neck and starting to stretch. "How come?"

He paused before answering. When he did it wasn't much of an answer, anyway. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. Less so now - I'm kind of stiff. 'Restless nights in one-night cheap hotels' don't always agree with me. Did you sleep okay? No nightmares?"

"I slept fine. Why nightmares? I don't dream much, usually."

"Oh, you had a problem with nightmares. I guess you don't remember." He looked like he might say more about it, but didn't. "Hey, you want coffee? They have it out in the lobby. I was going to get a cup. I could bring some back for both of us."

"Sure. Thanks."

"How do you like it?"

"I think I like it black. Are you going to tell me that I really like cream and sugar but I don't remember?"

He laughed. "I guess it's kind of annoying, me telling you all this stuff. Sorry. I'm just trying to help." I smiled at him and he looked a little reassured. "I'll trust you on the black coffee thing. I don't think I ever had coffee with you, anyway."

"Why not?"

"Oh, we didn't eat together. I ate you, but we didn't eat together."

He walked out. I took a quick shower and when I came out he was sitting at the small table in the room with two cups of coffee in front of him.

I sat down next to him, his clothed leg touching my naked one, and we had our coffee. He asked me a bit about my mutation, about the adamantium, about the claws. I got the impression he already knew the answers to his questions, but was trying to see how much I knew about myself, how much I remembered. He looked serious, interested in everything I said, and very sexy.

I reached over to touch him, just wanted to hold him by that beautiful chiseled chin for a minute. He sort of flinched, almost looked afraid, just for a second there. So strange after last night, when he was so eager. It was so quick I almost missed it. Probably would have if I hadn't been paying attention. I leaned in and kissed him. He kissed me back, put his hands on the back of my head, pulled me in towards him, moaned a little.

He let me lead him to the bed and we lay down together. He still had his clothes on - just a t-shirt and sweats. I undressed him, kissed him some more. He kissed back, hungrily, eagerly. Reached for my cock. Rubbed and stroked me with those beautiful hands while he kissed my mouth, my face, my neck. Then he rubbed his cock against mine, used both hands to stroke us together. I talked to him while he did it - knew now that he liked that. "That feels good, Scott. Your cock is so hard against me, Scott. I love your hands on me, Scott." He came first. Then tugged and stroked me until I came, too.

He looked happy, relaxed. We lay there and didn't say anything for a while. I kissed him again.

"Did he beat you?" I asked him, finally.

"Who? What do you mean?" He sounded surprised at the question. Lying, but surprised I was asking.

"The guy you're running from. What did he do to you?"

"I'm not running away from anyone, Logan. I told you - I came here to find you."

"Have it your way."

"No, tell me. Why do you think that? What would suggest that I'm running away?"

"It just seems like somebody hurt you, like you're scared of someone. I do believe you when you say you came here to find me, but I think that wasn't the only reason." I said it again. "You're scared of someone." He just looked at me, didn't say anything for a minute. Then, "Like before. When we were having coffee. I reached to touch your face and you flinched. I thought you might be remembering some time you got hit. "

He winced when I said it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Don't be sorry. I'm not mad or anything. Just figure it means something, that's all. I'm just trying to figure it out."

"Oh, it's nothing. It's not important."

"No, tell me. I want to know."

"It's the metal. The adamantium. I love the feel of it, love that it makes you so strong. But I'm a little scared of it, too. It can really hurt. When you reached for my face with your hand before, I thought you were going to hold my head still. I thought you might grip me too hard. I didn't mean to let it show."

"Why would I hold your head still?"

He just shrugged.

"Is it because of last night? Did I hurt you when I held you still when I was fucking you? I didn't mean to hurt. I was just trying to slow you down."

"No, you didn't hurt me, Logan. It was fine. It was great. I needed that. I was just... I don't know. It's been a long time. I guess I was overexcited or something. It's good you slowed me down. I like to start slow."

"Good. Me, too. Tell me if I hurt you, okay? I don't want to."

He smiled at me. I figured I could ask him. "Hey, can I take your glasses off? I know I can't see your eyes, but if you keep them closed I can see your face. Of course that means you don't get to see anything. But, just for a little while?"

He said sure and took the glasses off. He looked younger without them. He had long eyelashes.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It seemed like he had something he wanted to tell me. Maybe he didn't want me looking at him while he said it.

"I remember some stuff," he said, after a long silence. "At least I think I do. And you're in some of it. Can you tell me if it really happened?"

He sounded excited, but apprehensive, too. I told him I'd help if I could.

 

"Did you save my life?" he asked. "It doesn't seem possible, but I have this memory or vision or something. There's an old bald guy in a wheel chair and you're there and a couple of women, too. And the guy in the chair is like introducing you, or maybe just pointing you out to me or something. And he says you are 'Scott Summers, also called Cyclops'. That's what you said some people call you, right?"

I nodded, encouraging him to continue. "Well, and then I don't know what happens. It's kind of foggy, but I have this impression that the guy in the chair says 'He saved your life'. And that he's talking to me and about you. But it couldn't be, could it? I can't get sick, and when I'm hurt I heal so fast. My life's the last thing that needs saving." He paused. "So, did it happen? What does it mean?"

"Yeah, it happened." I wondered how much to tell him. "The guy in the wheelchair is Charles Xavier. He's my friend, my mentor. Found me when I was a teenage runaway and he's been like a father to me ever since. He runs a school for mutant kids - that's where I teach. That's where I live. That's where you were for a while."

"So what about the lifesaving thing?"

"I don't know if I saved your life or not. Charles thinks I did. He may be right. You were unconscious. There was a fire. In a truck. It was about to explode. I pulled you out of there just before it did. I don't know if your healing factor could have saved you if you were in the middle of an explosion."

"You must be a strong guy. Adamantium ain't light." There was a smile in his voice.

"Yeah, I know," I told him. "I've had you on top of me, remember? And, yes, it was hard to lift you. All the metal, plus you were kind of dead weight, unconscious and all. But I didn't have to carry you far. Just get you out of the blast range."

"Well, you're brave, too, to risk doing that."

"You said that once to me before. Brave, and more." I sighed. "Anyway, it kind of comes with the job."

"I thought you teach high school."

"Well, it's kind of a strange job. Sometimes I teach English, sometimes I save the human race, or special segments thereof. It works for me. There aren't a lot of career opportunities out there for brain-damaged mutants, anyway. And this one is interesting, and varied. And the benefits are good."

He laughed at that. "You said before that you fought side-by-side with me. Was I working there with you? Saving humanity?" He sounded like he thought it unlikely.

"No. You weren't on our team. You just helped us out on one mission. We couldn't have done it without you, Logan, and the world would have been a very different place if we hadn't succeeded. We captured Magneto - Erik Lehnsherr."

"That metal guy the anti-mutant folks are all up in arms about? The one they say proves we're a danger to all normal humans?"

"Yeah, I wish they'd focus on the fact that it was a bunch of mutants that stopped him, instead. And truly, Logan, I meant it. We would not have done it if you hadn't been there. I'd be dead; my whole team would be dead and there would probably be a full-fledged war going on between our kind and the rest of the human population."

"I'm glad I was such a hero," he said, a sardonic edge to his voice. "Too bad I can't remember it." Then, after a pause, "Why 'Cyclops'?"

"We use code names on missions, usually. Here, I'll show you why Cyclops for mine." I reached into the bed stand drawer and pulled out my visor, put it on. " "I wear this instead of the glasses for missions. I can control how much it opens, so I can have more control over my optic blasts. But it does sort of look like I have one eye."

"Did I have a code name, too?" he asked.

"No, not exactly. You had army dog tags, at least that's what they looked like. But where the name would be it said "Wolverine". So maybe you used that sometimes. I always called you Logan."

"Wolverine," he repeated.

"Does it sound familiar?"

"Only in that kind of foggy way that Weapon X does." And then, after a pause, "So what are your plans? What are you going to do next?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't think much beyond finding you. Maybe I thought you'd remember everything once you saw a familiar face."

"And when that didn't work, you figured me seeing the rest of you might do the trick?" He was laughing at me again.

"Something like that." He was lying on his back and I got on top of him and kissed him. He held my ass in his hands, stroking a little. I could feel his hard cock against my belly. "Mostly I just missed you so much, wanted you so much," I told him. "By the time I realized you didn't know me any more I wasn't really thinking beyond getting you into bed." I could feel my cheeks reddening.

"Well, look at that. You've got me in bed. Now, what are you going to do with me?"

"You tell me," I said to him. "I like it when you tell me what to do."

"We're a good match, then," he replied, laughing. " 'Cause I like it when you do what I tell you. Okay, Cyclops. Take the visor off, though. No glasses, either. I want to feel your face against me, not the glasses. I'll guide you, at least to get you started." I took off my visor and he took my hand and placed it in the hollow at the center of his neck. "I want you to put your tongue right here," he said, "and work your way down. Real slow. Make me feel real good, Scott. Afterwards we can figure out together where we're going, what the next move is."

He held my head with his hand to guide me to his neck. And that's when I did it -- I flinched again. I was so mad at myself. Where had my control gone to? Maybe I was trying too hard not to. It was just for an instant but I knew he noticed. He was noticing everything.

I figured I'd work on making him forget it. I kissed and licked all over his neck, his chest, his belly. Used my hands on him, too. It was so good to have his whole body just available to me like that, naked and relaxed and ready. By the time I was sucking him he was breathing really hard. I think I could have made him come right away if I had wanted to. I didn't want to.

I kept him right on the edge and he seemed to like it like that. Talked to me a lot, telling me he was so happy I'd found him. He told me I sucked cock better than anyone he'd ever had. That would have been a really nice compliment if it hadn't been coming from a man with almost total amnesia.

Then, after a while, he wasn't talking any more, just making those animal-like sounds he makes just before he comes. I took him down my throat all the way when he came and he called my name and pulled my hair while he let go deep in my throat. And then he let me just lie there afterwards with my head on his belly while he stroked my hair. I thought he'd forgotten all about the flinching.

But he hadn't. After a while he said, still stroking my hair, "What did he do to you, Scott? Maybe when you know me better, trust me better, you'll tell me all about him." I didn't say anything, didn't know what to say. After a long pause he added, "Maybe you won't. Maybe you want him to live."

=========================================================================================

Chapter 6: On the Road

From: scottcyke@yahoo.com  
To: profx@mutant.org  
Subject: Notes from the Prodigal (?) Son

Hi. Sorry I've been out of touch for a while. I have not been able to telnet into mutant.org a couple of times when I tried -- is there something wrong on that end? Or has someone changed my password on me? I'm thinking leaving Bobby in charge of the computer room was a bit of a mistake. The way I was looking at it was everybody else complains that it's too cold in there. I probably should have thought more about technical skills and seriousness of purpose than about relevant mutations.

Anyway, I'm using this yahoo address because it's easy to access it anywhere. Can you believe cyclops@yahoo.com was taken? And One-eye? And even Redeyedmutant (although I think that might be Remy's -- I don't have my address book with me). I had to try a bunch of combos before I got this one to work. I'm moving around a lot and figure I'll just use public access terminals whenever I can get them. So, write back here and I should be able to get the messages. I'll call, too, in a couple of days.

I found him, Charles, just sitting in a bar drinking a beer. He looks just the same but he's so different. He didn't remember me at all, which was a little bit tough. He has only the vaguest sense of where he's been or what he has been doing. The amnesia is pretty severe, but he didn't even know he had it. It was just like you said it would be -- he told me he has no problem with his memory and it wasn't until I confronted him with all he didn't know that he acknowledged it. But it is coming back, bit by bit. He has flashes of memory, like visions or waking dreams or something. They never seem to be complete and he alternates between excitement at remembering something and frustration at what he doesn't know. He's not an easy man to be around when he's frustrated. If the memories are from the time he was with us I can usually help fill in the holes, but a lot of them are from before then and I just don't know enough about his life before. For all the time we spent together, he told me so little.

He had told me in email, before this happened, that revisiting places he had been was triggering memory coming back, so I've tried to take him to some spots I know he has been to before. I'm guessing at others I think he might have been to and taking him to those, too. Sometimes it helps, sometimes he just says, "I'm pretty sure I killed somebody here but I can't remember any details." It's moments like that that make me wish I were home chasing kids back to their dorm rooms after curfew.

How is everything going back there? Is 'Ro enjoying being acting team leader? Am I going to have a hard time getting my job back from her? Does Jean hate me for sticking her with that creative writing class? I do appreciate you all pitching in and taking over my classes for me. I couldn't find a sub who was willing to teach mutants, at least not on such short notice.

Tell Jean I love her and I'll call her soon. And, Charles, thank you. Thanks for understanding that I had to do this. Or, if not understanding, at least accepting it.

Scott  
P.S. I remember you telling me that there are all kinds of prisons. He's in a whole new prison now and it's tearing me up that I can't break him out.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From: Profx@Mutant.org  
To: Scottcyke@yahoo.com  
Cc: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Notes from the Prodigal (?) Son

Yes, Bobby managed to reset all of our passwords. I'm not sure how he did it. He claims it was an accident. He claims that he has no idea why the new default password is an obscenity, either. No, not one of your better personnel decisions, Scott. Oh well, we all make mistakes.

We're all coping but you are sorely missed. Jean doesn't mind taking the creative writing class but she is threatening to send you select papers for grading. She said that she's shocked that Jubilee still doesn't know when "its" takes an apostrophe.

I'm enjoying your poetry class, I must say. A lively bunch and interesting material, although they ask me every Wednesday when you are coming back. I'd like to know myself.

I do understand that you need to help Logan, Scott. But, surely, if revisiting places he has been is helping him get his memory back, the best thing would be to come here. It's one place we know he spent time and where we can help him put the memories in context. I'm also just concerned about the two of you being on the road without the protection and support of the team and without the school defenses. We don't know who induced the amnesia in Logan and we don't know what whoever did it is planning next. I fear that he had gotten too close to finding out something. My contacts in Washington had already heard from their counterparts in Ottawa when I got to them. Logan must have been asking about Weapon X up there. Neither government wants this story getting out. It's hard to say just what they will or won't do to keep it quiet.

And, Scott, I'm worried about you being alone with him. Logan's a very troubled man. I know you know that but I am concerned that your judgment may be somewhat clouded by your desire. I know that that part of your relationship with him is not something we've talked about and I don't want to embarrass you but I feel like I need to warn you. He's dangerous, Scott.

I know he doesn't mean to be -- or at least he doesn't mean to be a danger to you. But think about what happened to Rogue. He didn't mean to hurt her, either. And you don't have her power. Forgive me if I'm being too blunt, but please listen to me: don't sleep next to him. You might never wake up.

'Ro has been doing fine as acting team leader. There hasn't been much need for major missions since you left, anyway. And, don't worry, your position is safe. I'm sure she will be as happy to welcome you back as the rest of us.

Do try to get back soon. And, no, you're very much not the prodigal son, Scott. But I'll gladly slay the fatted calf to welcome you home. We miss you. I miss you.

Charles

P.S. We have been monitoring anti-mutant activity and things seem to be heating up here. Do you have a sense of what it's like in Canada right now for declared mutants? Better, worse, about the same?

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From: scottcyke@yahoo.com

To: profx@mutant.org

Subject: Still on the Road

I guess I should have known that you would know what's going on. You know everything. Charles, really, I didn't mean for this to happen. I hardly know how it did. But I can't stop now. And I can't come home now. Not until I can figure out what I'm going to do about this.

I don't know what's happening to me. It's not love -- I know that. What Jean and I have, that's love. But it's not just sex, either. I've never felt like this about anybody. I've never felt so lacking in self-control, either. I just want to be with him all the time. I want to help him find out about himself, yes. But I don't just want him to find out about him. I want to really know him myself, to understand what makes him tick.

It's different between us, now. Partly I guess it's the amnesia, partly it's that we're away from all the complexities back at school. But I feel like I can trust him, like he really cares about me, like he wants to make me happy. I want to make him happy, Charles, really I do. I know this can't last. I know I need to get back home some time. But I just dread not being with him, not waking up and seeing him there. I "wish long and long to be with him," Charles. "To sit by him in the boat that he and I may touch each other." How many times have I taught that? And I never knew what it meant before. Now I do.

So, I don't understand this, really. But whatever it is, it's real and compelling and I think I just have to ride it out, get it out of my system. I am trying to help Logan by going with him to these places, but I'm trying to help Scott, too. I'm just hoping if I just sort of go with this I'll get over it, get over him, go back to real life.

And I really can't come back now, with him. I have to come to some sort of resolution first. I can't look Jean in the face right now. I can't look you in the face, either. What a disappointment I must be to you! I'm sorry, Charles. Really sorry.

Anti-mutant activity in Canada? It seems not as well organized as in the US, although anti-mutant feeling is running high. We're mostly managing to pass as normal. And we're not staying in any one place for very long, which makes it a little hard to gauge what's going on.

I thank you for your concern about my safety. It had already occurred to me that it might be someone from the government who zapped Logan's memory. We're being careful, not calling attention to ourselves, not asking questions in official quarters. I know it's dangerous, but it's not exactly the first dangerous thing I've done, you know. Maybe it feels different to you because you didn't send me this time. Just look on it as if it were another mission. I'm the guy who brings them back alive, remember?

And, no, I'm not sleeping with him (in the non-euphemistic sense), much as I'd like to "lay during the whole night having this wonderful monster in my arms." I saw what happened to Rogue; I've seen the holes in his bed and the walls next to it. I'm not saying I never fall asleep by his side but I get up and move before he starts dreaming. He hasn't been having nightmares, anyway, but they might come back. I think he would know it's me if he woke up suddenly from a nightmare. I think he wouldn't hurt me, but I'm not taking chances.

Scott

P.S. I miss you, too. You taught me everything in my life that's worth knowing, Charles. You gave me my life. I'll be back. Just give me time.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From: profx@mutant.org  
To: scottcyke@yahoo.com  
Subject: Reply to: Still on the Road

Oh, Scott! I am not disappointed in you for your involvement with Logan. Not at all. I wish we had talked about all this before. I'm worried about you -- I think you're confused and I'm concerned that your usually clear judgment is somewhat clouded. I have no idea where this will all end up, but I don't want you thinking that you're a disappointment to me. You have always made me proud and that hasn't changed one whit. I want you back here because we need you: need your leadership ability, your courage, your skills. I wish you realized just how loved you are -- for yourself, for Scott Summers the man, not just Cyclops the hero. I haven't always approved of everything you've done, but please know that my love for you is real and lasting. You're everything I want in a son, and in a leader for the team.

Okay, you know what's coming now, don't you? I know I taught you to offer praise before criticism -- makes them more able to listen. So, here it comes: I think you are going about this the wrong way. I don't know whether what you feel for Logan is love or not. You say you're so sure it isn't, but on the receiving end of the description it sounds a lot like love to me. But, whatever it is, it's not some sort of sickness that you can just wait out and it will get better. In your own words, it's something real and compelling. You need to confront your own feelings -- and not just about Logan. I know a little bit about bad experiences you've had with men, Scott. And I do worry that you might be repeating unhealthy patterns with Logan. But that's a totally separate question from whether you truly need to be with a man. You're the most self-disciplined person I know, Scott, and you've kept yourself in check for a long, long time. But the need didn't go away, did it?

It's pure fantasy to think that a lost weekend (or in this case a lost several months) on the road with him is going to get it out of your system. Maybe what you're feeling is going to last and maybe it's not, but indulging it isn't what will make it go away. You need to confront your own feelings and make decisions in your life. They aren't easy decisions, I know. But whatever you decide, do it consciously, purposively, thoughtfully. I expect no less of you. Don't just let events overtake you and decide for you. I think this idea that you're going to "get it out of your system" is counterproductive. It may be fun right now to be on the road with Logan. You have a sense of shared purpose, you have no other responsibilities. This isn't real life, though. I'm worried that you are getting a warped view of what life with him would be like.

That's not even my main worry, though. If it takes you another few weeks or even months to realize that you have to really confront what you're feeling, we can manage. And if you both keep your wits about you, you should be able to stay one step ahead of the government thugs. But, Scott, what you're doing is wrong. It just isn't fair -- not to Jean, not to Logan, not even to you.

You talk about being away from the "complexities" here. Away from Jean, you mean. Have you told Logan about you and Jean? I think not. I know you haven't told her about Logan. You can't keep this up, Scott. Not morally, not ethically, not even practically. Remember Twain: "If you tell the truth you don't have to remember anything." You're going to get to a point where you can't remember what you said to whom. And what about when Logan remembers about you and Jean?

And how can you treat Jean like this? And, no, I don't mean your relationship with Logan. I mean the dishonesty. She can't marry you if she doesn't know who you are, Scott. You say you want to understand Logan, to know what makes him tick. Doesn't Jean get to understand Scott? She loves you, Scott, you know she does. And she's an understanding person (we telepaths tend to understand a lot). If you can make a free and willing choice to marry her, to be with her exclusively, she'll still marry you, I'm sure. If she feels that you are being true to yourself, that is. But she has to know what you've been through, what you're going through. You have to begin as you mean to continue, Scott. You can't get married with a cloud of dishonesty over the relationship.

I hope I haven't spoken too harshly. Please know that whatever you decide I will always love you. And there will always be a place for you here.

Charles

P.S. I'm not exaggerating about government thugs. My impression is that there are operatives out there trying to ensure that no more information about the Weapon X project gets out, and that they are willing to stop at nothing.

========================================================================================

Chapter 7: Waiting in Winnipeg

He had something he wanted to tell me, something he was hesitant to say. I know what that looks like. I was feeling the same way.

"I can't take you with me to Churchill," he said. "They'll be looking for us there. Those government guys know it's two men traveling together and they know that Churchill's an important spot. I've got a better chance of getting in and out unnoticed if I'm on my own." He looked at me, trying to gauge whether or not I was upset, trying to decide whether he'd need to argue with me. "You'll wait for me here, won't you? Plenty to do in Winnipeg and I'll be back soon."

"Well, actually Logan, the trip to Churchill is probably a good time for us to part ways. I need to go home -- I can see you off on the train and then head back to Westchester. I've been gone too long as is. If I let this go on any longer I'm not sure I'll have a job waiting for me."

"Okay. I'll meet up with you there when I'm done at Churchill. It will probably help with my memory, too, don't you think?"

"Maybe. But Logan, there's something we have to talk about before you make a decision about whether you want to come see me in Westchester." I looked down, didn't want to see him looking at me. "There's some stuff I haven't told you about. Some important stuff."

He didn't say anything, didn't make it easy. I continued. "Remember when you told me you could see Charles introducing me to you in his office? Saying I saved your life?" I looked up. He nodded at me, encouraging me to continue. "You said you remember two women in the room. Do you know now who they were?"

 

He stopped to think for a minute. "One of them -- really beautiful girl with pure white hair -- I can't think of her name but she was a friend of mine, wasn't she? Wanted me to join your team. Did some favor for me, too, I think. I don't know what -- too foggy."

"She did some research for you on places you were going. You mentioned she wrote something about the spaceport at Churchill once."

"Oh! Well, then her name's Ro, right? I have all these papers and they're signed 'Ro'." He had that excited look he gets when the pieces of his life are starting to fit together.

"That's right," I told him. "It's short for Ororo. Her code name is Storm." He was nodding and smiling, showing it was coming back to him. "Logan, do you remember the other woman in the room?"

"Red hair, right? Very pretty. Kind of quiet, reserved? I can see her. Can't remember anything much, though. What's her name? Maybe that will help."

"It's Jean," I told him. "Jean Grey."

"No, that's not ringing any bells for me. What's her code name?"

"She doesn't have one. Never came up with one she liked. And maybe she doesn't need one. She has been a little more public than the rest of us, even testified at a Senate hearing on the mutant phenomenon. She's a doctor."

That seemed to do it. "Oh, yeah! I remember now. I think I hurt her --didn't mean to. I don't deal well with doctors, anyway, but I woke up and she had this needle she was going to stick in me. I don't like needles. And I didn't even know where I was and I grabbed her by the neck. And then just ran. I can't remember what happened then. Was she okay?"

"Yes, Logan. She was fine. You apologized to her, too. She likes you --you two were well on your way to becoming friends, in spite of a bad start. You and I had a bad start, too, but it didn't get mended so quickly. You pretty much hated me on first sight."

"That's a little hard to imagine," he said, smiling. "This time round I pretty much wanted to fuck you on first sight."

"Well, we didn't meet under very good circumstances, I think. And I was not as understanding as I could have been -- I was pretty hostile towards you in the beginning. It didn't get better for a while. It wasn't so simple between us, even after things changed. The sex was there before the friendship."

"That's the same as this time, don't you think?" he said. "Well, maybe not on your side. But I didn't know you. It was a while before I thought of you as a friend. Or a lover. But I was hot for you right away," he said, leaning in to kiss me.

"No, Logan," I said, pulling back. "Not right now. I really feel like I have to say this now." He looked at me expectantly. "Jean, the red-haired doctor. She was one of Charles's first students, like me. We've known each other since we were kids. And Logan, she's my lover. We've been together a long time. We're planning on getting married."

He laughed out loud at that. Then looked at me again, saw I wasn't joking. "Really, Scott? I can't see you ever being with a woman. I mean I know what you're like with me -- you've talked about other guys." And then again, "Really?" I nodded. "Well, does she know?"

"About you? About my past? No to both. I need to tell her, though."

"Yeah, it's a good thing, then, for you to go to Westchester first. Break it to her gently, I guess. Better she hears from you that you're with me now, before I show up."

This was getting harder by the minute. "But I'm not with you, Logan. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm going back to Jean. I swore off men a long time ago. Sort of fell off the wagon with you, I guess. But I can't do this any more. I want my life back. I want to be with Jean. I'm going to marry her if she'll still have me. I'm going to promise to be faithful to her and this time I'm keeping that promise."

He looked like he was reeling, recoiled almost like someone who had just been hit. Only when someone hits him it's the guy throwing the punch who's hurting. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, as if he were going to say something, but no words came out. I said, "I'm sorry," and then neither of us said anything for a while.

He broke the silence. "So all that stuff about fighting side-by-side, you and me a team, that was just bullshit, right? You never planned on this being any more than a short term thing. You always knew you were going back to her?"

"It wasn't bullshit, Logan. It was...I don't know. Maybe a wish, maybe a fantasy. It has been so great being with you, but it wasn't real life. It's like Butch Cassidy or something. Only with sex." I smiled at him, thinking it was his kind of joke, but he just glared at me.

"And what about 'an army should be made up of lovers; they would overcome the world'? What'd you tell me about that for if you didn't mean it? And don't tell me you meant it at the time, it's just different now. Not if you want to live another day, anyway."

"I won't tell you I meant it at the time. And I realize that the live-another-day bit is not just an expression with you. I told you about it because it's a beautiful idea - I wanted to share it with you. I meant it then; I mean it now. But it's not about here and now. That was ancient Greece. Twenty-first century North America is a different place.

"It's not an easy time or place for people like us, Logan. And some of it I can't do anything about. I can't make my eyes work right. I can't just be a normal human. But I can choose to marry Jean, to be with a woman. And I do love her - I know that's hard for you to believe, but I do. But it's not just that. I want a normal life. I want a place in society. And I had one, I built one, with Charles and Jean and the others. I can't give it up, not even for you."

 

"Why all that 'I belong to you, Logan' shit? What was the point of that?" he asked, voice and fists rising in anger.

"Oh, Logan," I replied, wondering if I was taking my life in my hands, "That wasn't for real. We both knew that. It was a game we played, both of us. It was just for sex, you know that. It made us both hot. But we both knew it was pretend."

The anger all seemed to drain out of him and there was just sadness in his voice. His hands fell into his lap, and he said, "Yeah, I knew that. I knew it was just pretend. I knew you didn't belong to me, knew you weren't really under my control. But I thought the real deal was that we belonged to each other. Wasn't I stupid?"

"No, you weren't stupid. And it's my fault. I should have told you about Jean from the start, I know I should. It was a totally selfish thing not to tell you. I just thought you'd be more open to caring about me if you didn't know. I care about you, Logan, really I do. And, before, when we knew each other, I used to feel sometimes like it was kind of one-sided. Maybe I was wrong. You were good to me a lot of the time and there were times when you were a better friend to me than I was to you. But sometimes it seemed like you weren't going to let yourself care about me. Partly just because of who you are -- you aren't an easy man to get close to. But I thought part of it was because of Jean."

"So, what was that like?" The anger was coming back. "Were you just going back and forth, from her to me? Did I know about her? Or did you keep us both in the dark? Is that how you got your kicks?"

"It wasn't like that," I told him, wondering how to even explain what it was like.

"Well, you know Summers," he said, "On second thought, I don't really care what it was like. Go back to your girlfriend, fine. Winnipeg's a big town. I'm sure I can find somebody else to fuck." And he turned and walked out, slamming the door after him.

So I was alone in the hotel room, feeling sad and relieved at the same time. I called home, the first time in a long time. Talked to Jean, told her I'd be home soon. "I love you, Scott. I miss you," she said and I said the same back to her, really meaning it, really believing it.

Then I watched a little TV, wondered if he would come back that night. Or at all. Wished I'd told him earlier. Wished I'd never told him. Wondered if there was some way to work things out so I could still be his friend. Wondered if he'd have me as a friend without the sex. Finally, musing on all this, I fell asleep. Woke up to pounding on the door and Logan's voice saying "Open up, Scott. If I break the door in, it's your credit card the replacement is going on."

I opened the door and told him I was sorry I hadn't done so right away. Explained that I had fallen asleep and hadn't realized he didn't have his key anyway.

"I don't believe you," he said, eyes flashing with anger.

"What don't you believe, Logan?"

"I don't believe you're in love with her. I don't believe you're going to get married. I don't believe you could be happy with a woman."

"I was happy with her. For a long time. We've been lovers for years, Logan. She's wonderful. Hell, you knew how wonderful she was. You were more interested in Jean than me. At the beginning, anyway. I know - you don't remember that. It will come back."

He said nothing about Jean, nothing even acknowledging what I had said or what we had been talking about before he walked out. Just growled at me, "Take off your clothes, Scott."

I started to, but I wasn't quick enough, I guess. He extended his claws and cut them off of me. Then he told me to lie down on the bed, on my side.

I did what he told me to, didn't say anything. He took off his own clothes (in a way that would let him wear them again, though) and got into bed with me, lying behind me, spoon fashion. He put his left arm under me and across my chest, pulling me close to his body. With his right hand he started stroking my cock. I could feel him get hard as he touched me, pressing against my ass. He was kissing my neck and cheek and biting my ear a little, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make me squirm a little.

"Tell me you want it, Cyclops. I won't fuck you until you do. Tell me you want my cock inside you."

"Oh, you know I do. Of course I do. I've never stopped wanting, Logan. That's not what this is about."

"Tell me. Ask me. I won't fuck you until you do," he said again, still stroking, still licking and kissing me.

"Please, Logan. Please fuck me now."

And he pushed into me right then. It hurt. He didn't stop to get me ready like he usually did, didn't start slowly. I felt tears in my eyes from the pain, but there was pleasure, too. He was fucking me hard and deep and his hand was on my cock, moving with the stroke of his dick inside me. Pretty soon the pleasure took over altogether. I was just so aware of him all over me - the arm under and around me, the hand on my dick, his cock deep inside, his whole body pressed up against me. It felt so hot, so joyful, so loving. And he kept talking to me.

"Tell me you don't need this, Scott. Tell me what she gives you is enough for you. Tell me while I'm fucking you and I'll believe it, 'cause I just can't believe it unless you do."

"I can't say that, Logan. I can't tell you I don't need it." I couldn't say anything for a minute, just feeling it too intensely. Feeling him. And then, "Right now I feel like it's all I need."

"You have to tell me," he said, ferociously. "How are you gonna go back there? How are you getting married, if you need this? If you need me?"

"Somehow. I don't know. I'll stop needing."

And then I couldn't really talk any more, or at least not very coherently. I heard my self saying "yes" and "more" and calling his name and I came hard while he fucked me and stroked me and kissed me. Then he took the hand he'd been holding my cock with and brought it to my mouth. Slipped his index finger inside and I licked and sucked on it, tasting my cum on him, feeling him in my ass, hearing his growls and roars while he shot his cum deep inside me.

He didn't pull out right away. He was hard again, or maybe still. Lay there moving a little, not really fucking me, just gently moving a bit. "I'm not done with you," he said. "I'm not going to be done with you." He paused for a long time and then added, "And I don't believe you're done with me, no matter what you say." And then he pulled out of me, put on his clothes and left without another word. I stayed up all night waiting for him, but he didn't come back.

================================================================================================

Chapter 8: Halfway to Flin Flon

Finally, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, I heard his knock on the door. "I'm coming, I'm coming. I know, I know. My credit card," I said, opening the door, ready to tell him that if he's going to walk out on me twice in a night he could at least take his damn key. Only it wasn't Logan.

They grabbed me and had me up against the wall before I even knew what was happening. What an idiot I was! Here I had been reassuring Charles that I knew how to take care of myself, knew how to stay out of danger. And then I go and do something that I wouldn't expect of my greenest recruits -- open a hotel room door without even looking through the peephole.

I hadn't gotten much of a look at them before they got me. There was one big one and one small one - that was pretty much all I took in. It was the big one holding me. He had me pushed face against the wall, hard. I had heard my glasses cracking when he pushed me in and it hurt where my forehead had hit the wall. He was huge. I'm tall, but he was towering over me --must have been at least 7 feet tall. And his hands were enormous. He had my hands behind my back holding my wrists with one hand, with a grip almost as strong as Logan's. The other hand was on the back of my head still, pushing me into the wall.

The smaller one was doing the talking. He had an English accent. "Thought it was your boyfriend, did you? He's not coming back." He said it in a gleeful, sneering sort of way. And then, "Close your eyes, Cyclops, unless you want to blast the honeymooners in the next room. We're taking off the glasses." I closed my eyes.

The smaller one came over and took the glasses off of me. He put some sort of padding on my eyes and then started wrapping tape around my head, covering my eyes, holding them shut. It was thick and sticky -- maybe electrical tape. Round and round, at least 3 or 4 layers. I found myself thinking that it was going to be hell to get all the glue out of my hair when the tape came off. And then almost laughed at myself for worrying about that when I didn't even know if I would live long enough to try to get it out. My hands were next -- bound together behind my back with the same stuff.

I was becoming more and more aware of the distinct possibility that I wasn't going to get out of this one alive. Oh, it's certainly a feeling I've had a few times before, but I don't remember ever feeling so totally powerless --no optic blasts, no team to support me, blind, not even my arms and hands to fight with. I pledged silently that if I had to die, I would die fighting. And die with dignity -- die in a way that would make Logan proud. Logan. Yes, it was Logan I was thinking of, wanting him to feel proud of me, to miss me. Not Jean, not Charles. Oh, I knew I loved them, too. Too.

"Gag him," the small one said, shocking me out of introspection. The big one spoke for the first time, a deep, growling kind of voice. "Nah," he said, "I want to hear him scream. That's half the fun. 'Beaten, raped and killed,' right? Those were the orders. Not much fun without any screaming."  
So much for death with dignity. And whose orders would those have been? My first thought had been that these two were the government thugs Charles had warned us about (although which government I still wasn't sure) and that they wanted to get rid of us because of what we knew about Weapon X, or what we were about to find out. But I couldn't see why either government would be interested in ordering me beaten or raped. Something was familiar about these two voices, too, which I wouldn't have expected from government thugs.

"Later," the small one said. "We've got to get him out of here, first. Anyway, I don't know if you'll get any screaming out of this one. He likes taking it up the arse."

"Oh, he'll scream for me. And beg to die, too, before I'm done with him."

One of them shoved some sort of cloth into my mouth, a lot of it. I felt like I was going to choke on it, but managed not to. I guess all those blow jobs were good for something, turned out to have taught me a fungible skill. Then they put more of the tape over my mouth and round the back of my head. The big one grabbed me across the chest and started to drag me somewhere. I tried to kick him, but he just laughed when my foot connected with his leg, and then started punching and hitting me -- on my head and then in the belly, knocking me double.

"Later," the little one said, again. And, then, "Remember. Don't use your claws on him. It has to look like normal humans did this."

Suddenly I remembered where I had heard those voices, knew who these two were. The mention of claws made it all click, I guess. They were Magneto's men, the ones we had fought at the Statue of Liberty. Sabretooth and Toad, they were called. I didn't have a chance, I realized. Not only were there two of them, not only was one of them over 7 feet tall with superhuman strength, not only was I blind and bound, but Sabretooth had the same healing factor Logan does. No way I could do any serious damage to him, not without my eyes.

They pushed me into some sort of wheeled cart -- maybe a laundry hamper? Yeah, most likely. They were covering me with towels and sheets and pushing me in the cart somewhere. Elevators were to the right when you leave our room but we went to the left. Oh, must be to the service elevator.

Soon we were going down and then they were pushing me in the cart again. And then the big one -- Sabretooth -- was lifting me up, carrying me over his shoulder. Threw me into what seemed to be the back of some sort of vehicle.

The little one said "Tape up his feet, too" and Sabretooth did. Then, off we went. It seemed we were in a small panel truck or van. They were sitting in front, arguing. Toad was telling the big guy that it wasn't his fun that was the point of this, that he had better control himself.

"Control don't go so good with rape and murder," he replied, chuckling.

"Well, it better this time," the Toad replied, petulantly. "We aren't doing this for your amusement. It has to look like the anti-mutant forces did this to him."

"What difference does it make?" the other guy asked. "Dead is dead."

"I'm telling you, the whole plan is going to fall apart if we can't make this look credible. So keep whatever wits you have about you. We've got plenty of clues to leave at the murder scene to point where we want them to look. But you can totally screw this up if you lose control and use your claws on him or do something else stupid. So watch out."

The truck felt like it was going faster now. There was a lot of stuff in the back there with me -- I kept sliding around and bumping into things whenever they made a turn. It felt like there were crates or boxes or something. They were laughing at me up front, helplessly knocked back and forth by the movement of the vehicle. Well, let them laugh. I was moving on purpose now -- just making myself roll a little bit more, pushing a little bit farther, trying to get a better sense of what was back here, what I could use to try to escape. My wrists were bound but I could touch with my fingers and tried to find something with them. Something sharp. Some way to cut the tape off my wrists.

Maybe the edge of one of the crates. I sort of sawed my hands back and forth on one of the corners of a crate that seemed pretty sharp. It was slow going. I couldn't really tell if I was making any progress or not. And I had to keep rolling around a bit so as not to get them suspicious up front. Although they didn't seem to be paying that much attention now. They were arguing about something up there, whose fault some long ago botched crime was. I rolled back to the crate with the sharp edges and suddenly felt a hand on my arm. At first I thought it was one of the goons who grabbed me, but I could still hear both their voices up front. The hand released my arm and one finger touched my mouth, briefly, but unmistakably in a signal to be quiet. Well, being gagged this was probably not all that necessary. Still, I started to feel excited and hopeful when I felt that finger on my face, the places where the tape hadn't covered. I knew that hand. It was Logan's. He must have been hiding behind or in one of the crates.

I stayed as still as I could. I could hear the SNIKT sound when a claw extended but I noticed he did it when Sabretooth and Toad were yelling at each other, covering the sound quite effectively. He sliced the tape binding my wrists and my feet, but I kept them positioned as if I were still bound. He cut the back of the tape around my eyes, too. I rolled back away from him, not wanting to call attention to that part of the truck.

We drove a long time. I had no idea where we were or where we were going. I assumed not over the border. I figured the border guards might take exception to a bound and gagged passenger, or at least ask me if I had anything to declare. So, maybe we were going north, not south. It seemed like a real long time. We could have been halfway to Flin Flon by now, I thought.

After a long time we stopped and I heard one of them come round the back and open the door. It was Toad. I lay there, very still, as he started taking things out of the back of the truck. Soon Sabretooth joined him, picking me up like I weighed nothing and taking me out of the truck. He dropped me on the ground, saying "Don't go away now. The fun is just starting," going back to unload more of whatever was in those crates. I wondered how long before they'd realize Logan was in there. I figured he'd make himself known when he thought best.

The one called Toad was unpacking things, or moving them around or something. I was careful to keep my hands and feet in place so neither of them would notice that the tape was cut. He stopped right near me and started talking to me in that sneering way of his.

"Look at you! Think you're such a hotshot, do you? 'Cyclops, Field Leader of the X-Men'. Well, you're just a pathetic wanker and your poof of a boyfriend isn't here to bail you out this time. What do you think old Charles's face will look like at your funeral? He thinks the sun shines out of your perverted little arse, and when he finds out what the homo sapiens did to his precious boy, it'll break him, that's what it'll do. Especially when he sees that the cops don't care. Nobody's going to care. It's going to look like just another anti-mutant hate crime. Your precious Professor X is going to give up his hope for humanity now. He'll come over to our side, he will. And with his powers he can free Magneto. Once the boss is out of the joint, we're back in business."

I got ready to move while he gloated. I could hear that he was really close to me now. Sabretooth was far away, back at the truck. With a sudden movement I grabbed Toad's ankle and yanked him off his feet and started hitting him.

He had the advantage of sight and that long, toxic tongue, but I had the element of surprise. I tried to knock him out before he could use his tongue on me, but I guess I didn't hit him hard enough. He was definitely still conscious, wrapped the tongue around my neck at least three times and was squeezing, strangling me. Whatever it was coated with was burning my skin, too, feeling like a rope burn or something on my neck.

I had only my hands to use on him, but they were around his neck and I was doing my best to choke him, too. And then I had Logan, who was suddenly there with me. I could hear Sabretooth screaming a ways off. It sounded like he was on the ground -- Logan must have used the advantage of surprise to attack him and was now coming to help me. "Stay still, Scott!" he yelled, and I didn't move a muscle. His claws went right through Toad's body. I could feel the points of them against my belly, stopping just before cutting me. I heard a gurgling sound coming from my attacker and the tongue went limp, slid off of my neck. I scrambled to my feet.

Logan was behind me now, holding me, telling me he needed me to use my eyes to save us both. He held my head, positioning me where he wanted, saying "Trust me. Open them when I tell you." I could hear Sabretooth getting up, roaring, coming closer. "Now!" Logan yelled and I opened my eyes. I only had them open for a couple of seconds, but it was long enough. Long enough to see that huge, hairy mutant fall, screaming in agony. His remaining leg couldn't hold him upright.

"Come on, Cyclops," Logan said, taking me by the hand. "Keep your eyes closed, now. You did great. Just come with me." He took me back to the truck, helped me get in. This time I got to sit in the passenger's seat. I heard Logan climbing in on the driver's side, starting the truck, saying "I think I'll drive, okay?" and we were off.

"Did I kill him?" I asked.

"No," he said, "At least I don't think so. The healing factor should ensure he'll survive. I don't know if the leg will grow back -- I never lost a limb -- but even if it doesn't he'll sort of heal around it, I think. We needed your blasts, Scott. I couldn't slow him down enough otherwise, not enough to get you into the truck blind. I pointed your eyes towards his leg so you wouldn't kill him. I know how you feel about killing people."

"I would have been willing to make an exception."

He didn't say anything for a while. And then, "Are you okay?" I told him I was fine. "Are you sure?" he said. "You look like hell."

"Well, I do always try to look my best for you, Logan," I replied, "and I'd really like to comb my hair and tidy up, but somehow I think looking in a mirror just now might not be the best thing to do." I couldn't see him but I hoped that made him smile. "That is, unless you happened to bring my spare glasses with you."

"Gee, I'm sorry," he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice now. "Somehow when I left after fucking you, after finding out you're marrying some redhead I never heard of, it didn't occur to me to take your spares with me just in case you got kidnapped while I was gone."

"That's okay, Logan. We all have these little lapses. Just keep it in mind for next time."

He chuckled at that one. Then he got very serious. "What did they do to you, Scott?" he asked.

"Not that much. I'm fine, really. Roughed me up a bit. Scared the shit out of me. Made me feel like an idiot for letting them do it." I took a deep breath, tried to figure out what to say. "I really thought I was going to die, Logan. It didn't seem that there was any way out. And all I could think of was you. I thought of how brave you always were -- about the pain you've endured, about the times you risked your life. I hoped I could be as brave. I wanted to die a good death no matter what they did to me. 'Death is a quiet step into a sweet clean midnight' -- remember that one? I wanted you to be proud of me. I wanted to die some way that made you proud of me, that made me worthy of your friendship. Of your love."

He didn't say anything for a long time. When he did, he didn't refer to what I'd said. "I remember a lot now, Scott," he said. "Maybe it was seeing those two that triggered it. It was the one I killed, Toad, who zapped my memory. I remember him coming at me with some sort of machine.

"A lot's coming back. Not some of the old stuff -- I still need to get to Churchill, I think. But a lot of stuff from when we were together in Westchester. I'm the guy you were scared of, right?"

"Only sometimes," I said, putting my hand on his leg, trying to reassure him. "It was complicated. I wanted you a lot more than I feared you, you know. And I admired you, too. I still do. Logan, I do love you. I'm not scared of you any more."

"Well, you should be," he said, voice full of anguish. "I'm a dangerous guy." We continued on in silence.

=======================================================================================================

Chapter 9: Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat

From: Scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Back in the Saddle

Well, I'm home and things are much as they used to be, at least on the surface. I'm teaching a full schedule and dreading Wednesday's poetry class. Just like old times.

Anti-mutant activity really does seem more organized and more aggressive than it used to be. A lot of our missions now are rescue missions -- mutants just aren't getting the protection of law enforcement agencies. It's really changing the character of the school. It's not just teenagers now. We've got whole families taking refuge here, attacked because one or more of them were found out to be mutants. And, sadly, we have the surviving members of some families where we couldn't get there in time to save them all. We're all struggling with how to accommodate the new residents: trying to find meaningful work for the adults, trying to throw together lesson plans for the smaller children, working with them all on overcoming the trauma and moving on. And the mansion, which always seemed so huge to me, now feels small and a little crowded.

So, with what I'm seeing of anti-mutant attacks now, I'm thinking Magneto's men were right. Their plan would have worked. Nobody would have cared about another dead mutant. Thank you again, Logan, for coming to my rescue. It's the second time you've saved my life. I think I owe you one now.

I hope you are finding what you need to know in Churchill. I hope they have public access internet workstations up there. I hope your Hotmail account isn't so full of unsolicited porn and other spam that this message gets lost in the pile.

What are your plans after Churchill? Will you come back here when you're done up there? Charles said he'd like to see you or talk to you. He has an assignment for you, I think, if you're interested. I hope you'll be interested, at least enough to come here and hear about it. I miss you, Logan. You said you weren't done with me. Is that still how you feel?

Scott

P.S. I told Jean. She took it pretty well, understood why I hadn't been honest with her. We've agreed to suspend the engagement for now and to have sort of a trial separation. Well, it's not much of a separation when you live and work and eat together, but I've moved out of our room for a while. I'm in your old room for now.

We're both thinking about what we want and what role we're going to have in each other's lives. I don't know where this will end up. I do know, and I've told Jean, that I need to have you in my life, too, in some fashion. I hope you feel the same about me.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: clawguy@hotmail.com  
To: scott@mutant.org  
Subject: Reply to: Back in the Saddle

Well, the subject line totally misled me, Scott. I thought I was going to get another email sex fantasy from you. I'll get over the disappointment, I suppose. I'm not sure what your current setup with Jean is, but if you could send me one of your stories, I could use one now.

Yes, there are public access terminals in Churchill. And the clawguy account was pretty full of spam by the time I got to it, but I looked for your name. Of course I might not have deleted all the porn unread if I knew I wasn't getting any from you. But most of it was of the "girls girls girls" variety. Not my interest, these days anyway.

I've collected info for you on tours during the polar bear migration. Seems like it's a major event. Maybe you could make it a school field trip next year. A way for you to get to go?

My stay here has been pretty hard, so far. A lot of memories have come back. The nightmares are back in full force, too. I'm running out of excuses for the damage I'm doing to the room I'm in. I have a much better idea now about what happened here during the Weapon X program. I have names of some of the people in charge, too, and I'm going to follow up and see where they are now. It was, as we talked about a while back, a long time ago. I'm not sure any of them are still alive. I'll find out soon.

I can't understand them, Scott. They seemed like ordinary people: doctors, scientists, bureaucrats. Yet they tortured, experimented on, destroyed people they had nothing against, people they knew nothing about. I don't get it. I don't even want to get it, I think. I just want them to die, and to die in as much pain as they gave.

It's not what I'm finding out about them that's really shaking me up, though. It's what I'm finding out about me.

Scott, they broke me. They took me apart -- my body, yes, but my mind, too. At least that was the end result. Too much pain, too much terror. You told me I was always so brave, but I wasn't. Not brave enough. When they put me back together I did whatever they told me to. Killed for them, mostly. I don't get it -- why would I obey them? I hated them. I hate them now. I've lived for years wanting to destroy the men who did this to me and now I find I followed their orders. For years. Some of those lost years that I wish had stayed lost.

 

I remember the first one I killed after they did this to me. He was young, practically a kid. He looked a little like you. I had nothing against him -- I didn't even know him. He was just there, just the first person I saw after they told me to kill. I don't think they even meant for it to be him, cared that it was him. They just wanted to see if it worked.

I'm finding it hard to tell you this, but I need to tell someone and I don't know who else I could talk to. You know that poem you taught me, the one you were quoting in the truck going back to Winnipeg? "Better to die one by one than to say yes yes yes" I said yes yes yes, Scott. And I wish to hell I'd said no and died then.

Logan

P.S. I'll be back at the school, eventually. I don't know about taking on any assignments, but I need to see you once more.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

From: Scott@mutant.org  
To: clawguy@hotmail.com  
Subject: Bears, Sex and Horror (3 distinct topics)

I thought I'd try for a clearer subject line this time. Logan, I hardly know what to say to you about what you've been through, what you've found out. Words seem inadequate to deal with the horror you describe. I suppose actions would be, too, but I wish I could be with you, to hold you and comfort you and perhaps keep the demons at bay for a little while. But words are all I've got right now, and they're better than nothing, so I'll try. In a little while that is. I'll come back to the Weapon X stuff after I've covered bears and sex. But I do want to say now that I am glad you told me, proud that you thought enough of me and of our friendship to share that. Please know, Logan, that you can tell me anything and I will try to understand and I will always be your friend.

 

Thanks for gathering info on the polar bear migration trips. I don't know that Charles will think that it fits in with the curriculum here, but it's worth a try. In the meantime, there's always the Central Park Zoo. There's a beautiful polar bear named Gus there. He's huge and furry and has these enormous eyes. Anyway, they have him in a display with some rocks and things and a big pool. The pool has glass walls and you can stand next to the walls and see him under the water. I like to stand there for a long time, watching Gus swimming back and forth, seeing those huge clawed paws pushing off the glass right in front of me. Back and forth he swims, all the time. There was something in the paper about it a while back. It seems the zoo folks were worried that he was one neurotic bear, too fixated on swimming. Obsessed, even. So they brought in a famous bear psychologist, author of the best-selling Bears Who Swim Too Much , IIRC. The shrink examined him, did whatever the bear equivalent of psychotherapy is, and then told them to just let him swim. It's what he needs to do; it's what makes him happy. And it makes some of the people who come to the zoo to watch him happy, too. Me, for instance. Sometimes bears (and people) can be happy if they just get to enjoy themselves, just get to do what they like to do. Sometimes it's not such a good idea to get all worked up about what other people think you should be doing.

Moving right along to the second topic of this morning's symposium: email sex. No, there's nothing in my current arrangement with Jean that precludes cybersex with you. Or even the physical kind. We've agreed to give each other space and time to think about what we each want out of a relationship.

With each other or with others. I think for Jean the hardest part of all this isn't that I cheated on her, or even that the two guys she thought were fighting over her were actually hot for each other. I think what is toughest for her is feeling like she didn't know me at all for the years we were together. And I blame myself alone for that. But I'm trying to go a little easy on myself because it wasn't just Jean I kept in the dark -- it was Scott, too. If not for you, I might have been able to keep my defenses up indefinitely, I think. There are times when I've cursed you for that. As time goes on, though, I find that more and more I'm thanking you.

Oops, I seem to have gotten off on a tangent. And I was supposed to be getting you off, wasn't I? Okay, back to business. Hmmm, business. You once told me I could give blow jobs for a living. Little did you know that I did for a while. Why am I telling you this now? I'm not sure. Anyway, it wasn't much fun, believe me. In fact it was pretty awful. Scary, kind of degrading. I sure love doing you, though.

Stick to the point, Scott. Okay, I told you I'm in your old room, right? I think of you whenever I see the holes in the wall and the mattress. Fondly, in case that wasn't clear. Anyway, I had a long day yesterday -- in addition to teaching and field leader responsibilities I'm trying to catch up on several months' worth of neglected paperwork. By the time I got back to my/your room I was exhausted. I planned on just lying down on the bed for a minute, and then getting up and showering and changing, but I ended up just falling asleep in my clothes. In real life, I didn't wake up until morning, but we'll amend that for the story.

So, there I am asleep on the bed. I'm lying supine this time (that's on my back) and you come in. You didn't know I would be there. Maybe you never got my message, maybe you just didn't read it so closely. But, anyway, you're just thinking that you've been traveling a long time and you're going to go to sleep but you find me sleeping in your bed and that gives you other ideas. You unbutton my shirt and start kissing me on the neck, on the chest, on the belly. It's a great way to wake up. I pull you to me and you're lying on me now. I love the weight of your metal-laden body on top of me, love your hands in my hair, your mouth on mine. I can feel your cock hard against me. And we kiss for a long time, tongue to tongue.

Then you go back to kissing me on the neck and the chest. Working your way down, so to speak. You undo my belt and then my fly and pull out my cock. I've been hard since you first kissed me and I'm feeling just about ready to explode right about now. You wrap your hand around me and stroke up and down.

"Do you like this, Scott?" you ask, giving me that killer smile of yours.

"Oh, yes. It feels really good."

"What else do you want me to do, Scott?" I tell you that you know what I want, but you just repeat yourself. "What do you want, Scott? Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

"I want you to take me in your mouth, Logan. I want you to suck me. Would you do that? You've never done that for me, before."

"I've never done that for anyone," you say, "but I've wanted to do it to you for a long time." And, keeping your hand on the base of my dick you put the head in your mouth. You're pressing on me with your tongue and pushing me against the roof of your mouth and making me moan. Then pulling a little with your lips, sucking harder, moving up and down with your mouth and your hand at the same time. I can hear those kind of growly sounds you make sometimes in your throat but they are a little different with your mouth full. And I love the sound and the feeling and I reach out and hold your other hand, the one that isn't busy. I say, "I love you, Logan." I've told you this a couple of times, now. You've never said it to me but I feel like you're saying it now, saying it with your mouth on my dick, sucking me harder and faster now. And then I come and you swallow it and kiss me again. Then you say it in words. "I love you, Scott." And then, " I was right, wasn't I? We do belong to each other. You just didn't know it then."

And I nod and smile.

So, then you tell me to take off all my clothes and I do. You're taking off your clothes, too, and I'm just loving looking at you naked. You get on top of me again, pushing my legs back this time, over your shoulders. "I want to fuck you," you tell me and I tell you I want you to. I'm so relaxed from just coming that it's really easy to get into me, isn't it? And you move slowly, in and out, your face looking down on me, smiling. Then the smile goes away, but not because you've stopped having fun or anything. Just because you're getting into it more, pushing harder and faster. You have that look of concentration you get when you're getting closer to coming. I've seen it lots of times when I've blown you or done you with my hand but never when fucking before, because you always did me from behind. And now I see it and I hear those growling noises and they sound good without your mouth full too. And pretty soon I can feel you coming inside me and I see that look you get when you do, peace and a kind of joyful glow. I'm loving watching that right up close, your face right over mine. Then you pull out of me and I bring my legs back down and you just kind of collapse on top of me with your head on my chest.

Okay, so was it good for you? I'm taking a couple of risks, there, what with the Logan-blows-Scott role-reversal thing and the I-love-you bit. If it's not what you're looking for, I'm sorry. I was trying not to repeat myself.

And what's left to write about? Yes, I know. I haven't forgotten. It's just that I still don't know what to say about it, Logan. Other than this: it's not your fault. None of it. It's not something you did; it's something they did to you. And I could write you a whole treatise about Stockholm Syndrome (or could if I knew anything about it) or tell you about other people who've been victims of similar evils, but I don't know if any of that would help. I don't know if anything I can say would help. But Logan this I know for certain sure: you are good and you are strong and you are brave. Nothing they did to you cancels that out; nothing you did when you were under their control changes that. You've risked your life to save all of us, to save Rogue, to save me. You've inspired me to try to emulate you, to try to be as brave as you. Okay, here's something you might like. It's from Symposium, from the same section as that army of lovers bit you liked (Jowett translation in case you care. No, I thought not):

"Who would desert his beloved or fail him in the hour of danger? The veriest coward would become an inspired hero, equal to the bravest, at such a time; Love would inspire him."

I've been the veriest coward, Logan. I'm not any more. You've inspired me.

Scott

P.S. Are you familiar with Arendt's phrase about Eichmann -- "the banality of evil"? Maybe it applies to the Weapon X people, too.

========================================================================

Chapter 10: There But for Fortune

I only got a brief note from him after my long one. He didn't refer to anything I said in mine. I wouldn't even have known that he got mine except for this habit he has of only using the reply function. His note, which said only that he was done in Churchill and would be out of touch for a while, had a subject line of "Bears, Sex and Horror (3 distinct topics)".

So, I worried that he didn't like what I had written and that's why he hadn't responded to it. Thought the sex scene might have turned him off rather than on. Worried that he thought what I had said about the Weapon X project facile and simplistic. Fretted a little over the declarations of love - I certainly knew he wasn't the romantic type. What had I been thinking? I should have stuck to "I love sucking your cock" and similar sentiments. I considered sending an amended email explaining that those I-love-yous were really just typos and should be reinterpreted as expressions of pure lust, but decided against it. Partly because I decided it was a cowardly thing to do. Mostly because he'd told me he was going to be incommunicado for a while so there wasn't much point.

I wondered, too, if it had been a mistake to mention the I Was a Teenage Mutant Prostitute bit. Some things are best said in person or not at all and I was starting to think that was one of the not-at-all kind.

After a while, I stopped worrying about it, though. I figured there was more on his mind than my email. I still had no idea how he felt about me these days, but I didn't think I could have blown it completely with one poorly worded note. I was starting to think I liked him better with amnesia. Somehow "I need to see you once more" was nowhere near as promising or satisfying as "We belong to each other." Still, whatever he was now he was. Whatever he thought of me, that's what I had to live with.

I couldn't really count on some villain coming along and zapping his memory every time he got tired of me, much as I might want to at times. And it was possible he still wanted to be with me, still cared. Maybe he was just so overwhelmed by what he was finding out that he didn't have the energy to deal with anything else. Maybe he didn't find email a good way to express himself. All I could do was to wait and see.

In the meantime, I came up with all sorts of scenarios for his return. I have a pretty vivid imagination and I was getting into it, thinking of where I'd be when he came back, what he'd say and do. Sometimes I had him meet me in the garden, sometimes in a class as I taught, sometimes like the story I'd sent him, just showing up in my-formerly-his room at night. All of my scenarios involved hot sex, wild declarations of love, and more hot sex. Well, as I said, I do have a vivid imagination.

But when he did show up it wasn't like that at all. I was sitting in my office grading papers and didn't even notice him come in. When I looked up he was just sitting there in one of the chairs, looking at me. "Hi, Scott," he said, quietly. Sadly.

I asked him how he was and he said he was fine. We made small talk for a while, him asking about the goings-on at school, me about his travels. It was very strange, like two casual acquaintances just filling up the silence with unimportant chatter. I asked him if he had spoken to Charles yet, and he said that he had just come from meeting with him.

"What does he want you to do?" I asked.

"Oh, he's got this idea that 'Ro and I should go scouting for a location for a Canadian branch of the school."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, for right now it's just for expansion. But he's worried that the mansion might have to be evacuated if things heat up too much here. He wants somewhere to take refuge, somewhere out-of-the-way. And the legal climate does seem a bit better for mutants in Canada. So, he figured I know a lot of the less traveled places out west and between me and 'Ro we could find a good spot, buy up some land, maybe with a house on it already. Then he'd send a team to get started there. Build more. Start a school, a center, like here. Maybe include some of the people you've rescued recently. Sort of mutant homesteading or something."

"So, are you going to do it?"

He shook his head. "No. No more assignments, no more traveling. I'm too weary." And then, after a pause, "I came back for a purpose, Scott."

"And it's not to fuck my brains out and tell me you'll love me forever?" I asked, mostly joking but a little bit hopefully, too.

"No. 'Fraid not. I want to collect on a favor I asked you a long time ago. Scott, I'm done. All done. I tracked down the Weapon X people. They're all dead. Even the one I always thought of as just The Doctor, the one who told them all what to do to me. I've wanted to kill him for years now. Sometimes that was pretty much all I was living for. Well, he died more than 10 years ago. Surrounded by family and friends, in his own home. 85 years old. Lovely obituary in his local paper - glossed over his wartime activities."

"I'm sorry, Logan."

"Hey, it was too much to hope for that he'd be alive. And how much satisfaction would I have gotten tearing some 95-year-old man limb from limb? Not that I wouldn't have done it, anyway, but..." he paused for a minute and then said it again. "I want a favor from you. You know what, don't you?" I nodded. "Will you?" I shook my head.

"Logan, I understand it feels now like you have nothing to live for but it won't always have to be that way." I was trying desperately to think of something to say to him, something uplifting.

"Don't, Scott," he said. "I'm not some kid on your team in need of a pep talk. I'm just done. I'm tired. I've had enough. There's nothing left for me."

"There could be. There's me, for a start. I'm not saying my love is reason enough to live, but isn't it at least worth something? Knowing somebody loves you, cares about you? And there's Charles's assignment, too. It's important work, meaningful work. You're needed, Logan, and not just by me. There are only two really good reasons to live - love and work. You could have both if you just let yourself."

He looked so tired. And, in a strange way, so old. His face hadn't changed at all - no lines, no signs of his real age. But those eyes looked at me with at least a century's sorrow in them.

"Oh, Scott," he said, "I don't know what to say to that. I didn't know what to say to the email, either. I guess I'm out of practice or something. It's a long time since anyone said 'I love you' to me."

"Well, get used to it, Logan," I replied, getting up from behind my desk and coming over to him. He was sitting in one of my straight back chairs and I got on top of him, straddling his legs, my feet on the floor. I kissed him briefly and said, "It's one of those things that it's really hard to stop saying once you've started. And I don't want to stop. So, you'd better start thinking of some snappy comebacks. Of course, there's always the classic 'I love you, too, Scott' but I wouldn't want you to say it if you don't mean it."

"I don't think I'm capable of love. I really don't. If I could love anybody, it would be you. But I think it's part of what I lost in Churchill. I can hate. I can kill, but I can't love. It's part of why I don't want to live any more. Part of it is I just feel so damn tired. And so very old. I think I mostly am dead already. The healing factor is a curse, really. My body doesn't know it's time to just give up. You're looking at a dead man, Scott."

I kissed him again and this time he kissed me back, put his arms around me. I unzipped him and pulled out his cock. "Dead men don't have hard-ons," I said to him, and he smiled a little. "Logan," I went on. "I'm really not trying to minimize or mock what you're feeling, but I just think it's too soon to make a decision like this. You know, killing yourself is not one of those decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. You can decide not to kill yourself and change your mind later, you know. Can't you just put this suicide thing on the back burner for a while? Think a little more about it? We can talk about it again in a few days, or even later today if you want.

"And, anyway, all I agreed with was to listen to you, to argue with you, to let you try to talk me into it. I find, in general, that I'm considerably easier to persuade of most things after sex. I'm not sure about assisted suicide. I must live a sheltered life or something. Nobody ever asked me to help him kill himself before."

I unzipped my own pants, too, and took his hand and put it on me. "I missed you," I said. "I missed your touch."

"I missed you, too," he said. "The email helped. Really, it did. I don't want you to think I didn't appreciate it, even if I didn't know what to say about the I-love-you stuff. I'm glad you answered, glad you felt you still wanted to be my friend. And the sex scene was hot."

"Was it?" I asked. "I was a little worried that it might not be your kind of thing."

"Nah, you're a good guesser. Or you just know me or something. I do want to blow you, have wanted to for a long time. Maybe we'll do that later," he said, still holding my cock, stroking a little. "But right now, I want to fuck you. Here in your office, with you bent over your desk. What do you think?"

What I thought was that sex now and the suggestion of sex later was a hell of an improvement over suicide, both as a topic of conversation and as an activity. I got off of him and handed him a tube of K-Y from my desk. He looked at me kind of quizzically, not expecting me to have it there, I guess. I shrugged. "What can I say? I used to be a Boy Scout."

"Was that before or after you were a rent boy?" he asked, standing behind me, reaching to undo my belt and pull down my pants.

"Well, I think 'during' would be the best answer but my honor as a Scout requires that I tell you the truth, which is that it was before."

He pushed me down, bent me over the desk, and pushed one lubed-up finger into me. Then another, moving them around a bit, opening me up. "Did anybody do this to you when you were a Boy Scout, Scott?" he growled.

"I think I got a merit badge for it," I replied. And then he pulled his fingers out and pushed in hard with his cock, leaving me speechless and breathless for a minute. He started fucking me, slow and deep. Talking to me while he did, saying, "Remember this, Scott. Remember me. Think of me when you're here. Remember."

I hoped this meant he was thinking of changing his mind about the job Charles had for him, that he was talking about wanting me to remember him while he was up north. But it seemed more likely we were back to the suicide theme.

I figured it wasn't the best time to ask for clarification. "I'll remember," I said. "I won't forget you." And he was fucking harder and faster and I was feeling a little weak in the knees, having trouble staying in place. So, I put my hands flat on the desk to sort of brace myself and he covered them with his hands, interlacing his fingers with mine, holding my hands as he pushed his cock into me, harder and faster.

 

As he came I heard him saying my name, but also heard the SNIKT and the sound of metal cutting through wood. The claws had come out and were cutting into my desk. So I ended up with a visible reminder, too.

He didn't say anything after he was done, just zipped up and left. Not knowing what else to do, I finished grading my papers and continued on with the activities of my day. I looked for him at dinner, but as usual he wasn't there. There was lots of talk, though, of the proposed trip up north, with both Charles and 'Ro sounding like they were well on their way to talking Logan into it. I thought that was a good sign -- he must not have turned Charles down flat.

We had a faculty meeting that evening and then it was my turn for rounds, so I did the usual checks. Defenses were all secure; kids who weren't where they belonged got sent back to their own dorms and beds. But no sign of Logan, although I entered the Danger Room and a couple of his other haunts hopefully. I didn't even know where he was sleeping this time round. Finally, I went back to my room and went to sleep.

He came to me in the night. It wasn't quite like I'd written it for him, but close enough. Yes, he sucked me off. And he wasn't bad for a novice. Needed some practice, some tips, but I figure I'm just the guy to give him both. And what he lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. Or maybe it was just my enthusiasm -- it's something I'd wanted him to do for so long.

And then he fucked me -- again and again, almost compulsively. Pretty much every position I'd ever heard of and a few I hadn't. Trying to use sex, to use me, to get the horror out of his head. I was happy to be used like that, happy to give him whatever transitory joy I could offer. Finally, he lay on top of me, head on my chest. I stroked his hair and talked to him softly. He started crying, tears falling on my chest. He'd never cried before in front of me; I didn't know if he'd ever cried at all. "Tell me again it's not my fault," he said.

So, I did. I told him he was a brave warrior and they'd wounded him. Wounded his body, wounded his mind. Told him that happens to the bravest and the strongest and the best. Told him he was all of those and always would be. And I quoted Sandburg to him. Not "The Man with the Broken Fingers" -- I regretted ever having told him about that one. No, this time I went back to the first World War and gave him "Murmurings in a Field Hospital". It's one I had recited to him way back when we had first started having sex. It always made me think of him -- the wounded soldier who wanted only playthings, only beautiful useless things. Told him I didn't mind being his plaything, told him I'd do what I could to keep the demons away.

"I'm so damaged," he said to me, still crying.

"We're all damaged, Logan. We're a damaged people in a hostile world. But we can help each other. Some of the damage we can heal and some we have to live with. You should see some of these people we've been bringing into the school lately. Such savage attacks. I really don't know how much they can recover, but we'll do our best by them. And every time I look at one of them, Logan, I think 'there but for fortune.' There but for you."

I fell asleep in his arms. Maybe it was trust that he wouldn't hurt me, even if he had a nightmare. Maybe it was simply exhaustion.

I woke up alone. And late. Missed breakfast, barely had time for a quick cup of coffee before my first class. At lunch, I saw that 'Ro was missing and Charles said that she and Logan had left on their mission. I tried not to be disappointed. Tried to focus on the fact that he was willing to take on the assignment, willing to live a little longer, and not on him leaving without saying goodbye. "He left a note for you," Charles said, handing it to me.

I didn't want to read it in front of everyone, so I put it in my pocket for later. Well, it wasn't that personal -- I suppose I could have just read it at lunch. It was characteristically terse but it made me smile to read it:

 

Scott -

Love and work, you say? I'll give it a shot.

Keep in touch,  
Logan

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dditional Information - Literature

Some additional information for anyone interested in the literary references in "I Know What You Are" and "We're Not What You Think."

Scott (the version of him in these stories, that is) is a mutant superhero, a funny guy with a (usually self-deprecating) joke for all occasions, really good at giving blow jobs, and an English teacher. So, the stories have a lot of quotes and literary references. Scott has asked me to provide additional info and urls, where available, in case anyone reading the stories gets interested in the poems or other works referenced. If you haven't read the stories yet, go read them first, because there are spoilers in what follows. But if you're choosing between reading the stories and the real literature referenced below, Scott and I would both prefer you read Sandburg et al.

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Poems

There are two poems by Carl Sandburg referenced in the stories. One of them, "Murmurings in a Field Hospital," is quite short. It tells the story of a badly wounded soldier in WWI who wants to think only about "playthings" and "beautiful useless things." Logan, in the bar scene, remembers a line from it when he sees Scott, but doesn't know why (due to the amnesia). Scott recites it to Logan in the last story and mentions having recited it to him when they had started having sex. He says that he sees Logan as the soldier in the poem and doesn't mind being his plaything. The text of the poem can be found at http://www.bartleby.com/165/70.html.

"The Man With the Broken Fingers" jumps to World War II. It was written about the true story of a Norwegian resistance fighter who was tortured to death by the Gestapo without ever revealing the names of his comrades. It's a beautiful and disturbing poem. Scott quotes it to Logan on the way back to Winnipeg, saying that he wanted to die as bravely as the man in the poem (and implying that Logan, also, was that brave). Logan references the poem again when he realizes that he had not stood up to the torture of the Weapon X project, that they had broken him to their will. Scott later says that he regrets having introduced Logan to the poem. I could not find this one in any of the standard electronic text sites, but it's easily available in libraries or bookstores, in collections of Sandburg's work.

One of Scott's favorite poems is T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." He quotes from it a few times. It has what I would think is the best-known reference to "claws" in English literature, so he quotes that line to Logan. He also mentions "restless nights in one-night cheap hotels" when he wakes up in Medicine Hat after finding Logan in the bar there and bringing him back to his room. Scott himself has serious Prufrock tendencies (he is scared to make decisions about his life) and Charles quotes Prufrock in talking about Scott a few times as well, saying that Scott doesn't "dare disturb the universe" and that he "prepared a face to meet the faces that he meets." The title of the third story in the "We're Not What You Think" series, "Time to Wonder," is also a quote from Prufrock. The poem is widely available on the 'net, including at http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html.

Walt Whitman's "I Sing the Body Electric" shows up in both series. In "I Know What You Are" Scott is teaching it to his poetry class when Charles comes into the room. He has some misgivings about the discussion in front of Charles, since the poem is a celebration of physicality. Logan later quotes a line from the poem to Scott in email, referencing Scott having sex with Logan and Jean in succession (which didn't happen, but Logan doesn't know that). Logan asks Scott if he's surprised that Logan knows the poem. Later on, Scott quotes it again to Charles, trying to describe how he feels about Logan (the line about wanting to sit near him in the boat so they can touch each other). The poem can be read at http://www.bartleby.com/142/19.html.

Oscar Wilde's "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" is the poem Scott is teaching in the first series when Logan comes into the classroom. It was written by Wilde in prison. He was imprisoned for having sex with another man. The most famous section of the poem is this:  
Yet each man kills the thing he loves,  
By each let this be heard,  
Some do it with a bitter look,  
Some with a flattering word,  
The coward does it with a kiss,  
The brave man with a sword.

Scott refers to that section of the poem saying that it struck him because he has tried so often not to kill with a look. The class is discussing another line from the poem "Each man kills the thing he loves but each man does not die" when Logan comes in. That line reflects Scott's fear that Logan will kill him and also foreshadows Logan's request that Scott kill him with his optic blasts. The entire poem can be read at http://www.hoboes.com/html/FireBlade/Wilde/gaol among other places.

 

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Dialogue

 

There are several references to one of Plato's dialogues: Symposium. Often referred to as "Literature's most famous dinner party" it consists of a bunch of people at a party discussing the true nature of love. The "army of lovers" piece that Logan says Scott taught him comes from Phaedrus's speech in Symposium, as does the part Scott quotes in his email, saying that he has become braver from being inspired by Logan. The line Scott quotes to Charles about wishing he could sleep with Logan (in the non-euphemistic sense) comes from Alcabiades's speech. The "wonderful monster" in that speech is Socrates. Also potentially of interest in Symposium is a legend that tries to explain why some people are sexually attracted to members of their own sex and others to members of the opposite sex. Like Scott, I like the Jowett translation. It can be read at http://plato.evansville.edu/texts/jowett/symposium.htm.

 

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Plays

 

Scott quotes Shakespeare's King Lear when he talks, in the first story in the first series, about trying to keep his mind off of sex with men: "That way madness lies. Let me shun that." He says that he drove himself half-mad with the shunning. The entire text of the play is available at http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/toc/modeng/public/MobLear.html.

The most famous line from Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman is "Attention must be paid to such a man." Scott originally uses it in the first series, when he expresses his need to change the terms of his relationship with Logan. Both Scott and Logan refer to it a few times in the second series. I have not been able to find an electronic text version of the play on the web but any library or bookstore would have it.

Oedipus Rex by Sophocles shows up a few times in relation to Logan, who unknowingly quotes from it (He's just saying what he's thinking and it happens to be from the play). Charles also uses a line from the play in reference to Logan in Logan's dream ("Grief causes the steadiest minds to waver"). Oedipus's story is one of accidental murder and forbidden love, so it applies well to Logan. The reference to "tears of blood" in Logan's dream at the end of the first series is also derived from Oedipus, who punishes himself by gouging out his eyes. The text of the play can be seen at http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/toc/modeng/public/SopOedi.html.


End file.
